


Yellow Brick Road

by DutchXfan



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Epic, F/M, Foof, shipperfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-06
Updated: 2007-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 173,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DutchXfan/pseuds/DutchXfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes you know you take a wrong turn in life, but the crowd keeps you going." -- Marie's coming of age story while Logan's trying to figure out what to do with his life as well. Foof and angst, friendship and drama. Picks up right after X2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am again. There were people kicking my ass for staying away too long, but I had a real life to live for a while. I’ve got a new story though. It’s got 55 chapters, so grab a drink and make yourself comfortable. 
> 
> For those who have read Once Upon a Time, some warnings up front. The Marie in this story will be a bit more dark than the Marie in Once Upon a Time. She’s wrestling with a lot of angst, and she’s a little less reflective than she should be. Logan will be a little more bad-ass, but he’s still caring and sometimes even playful around Marie, so that hasn’t changed much. 
> 
> For those who hate Bobby: I’m very sorry. He will be there a lot. I don’t like it either, but he has to be there for the sake of the plot. Trust me on this. I didn’t turn into an Iceman/Rogue shipper. It’s still all about Logan & Marie, and it will be about friendship, about learning the difference between your head and your heart, about finding out who you truly are inside and accepting that person, and about opening up to the one you love, even when it feels like it’s the scariest thing ever. 
> 
> A personal note: this fic is loosely based on my own coming of age story. I managed to insert it into the X-Universe, but certain conversations, events and relationships actually happened in real life. Because of this reality element, there aren’t any clear lines between right and wrong, and things aren’t just black and white. I like my fics to be grey, and I like my characters to be flawed. You might become very frustrated with Marie from time to time, but feel free to whack her over the head if you’re fed up with it. :) (Beta by lord_gorthaur and gammameta.)

“Fuck, he’s good.”

A slightly annoyed, slightly complimentary Jubes joins Kitty and me after trying to convince Logan she’s having her period. She didn’t want to run the laps-fest our drill sergeant likes to call Combat Training, but Logan didn’t buy her story, obviously. 

“Told you,” Kitty lectures her, panting like an old horse even though we’ve just started our second lap. “It’s that creepy smell-thing.”

“Yeah,” Jubes agrees. “Do you think he can smell when we’re, you know, catchy?”

Kitty wrinkles her nose. “God, I hope not!”

“Well, animals can, can’t they?” Jubes asks, and my eyes snap to Logan to make sure he didn’t hear that. 

If he did, he doesn’t show. He’s not even watching us, but I can’t help but defend him. 

“He’s *not* an animal.”

“Whatever, chica, but I betcha a hundred bucks he’s an animal in the sack.”

I sigh. My friends don’t understand the impact of Logan’s mutation on his life. I’ve experienced it myself, and God, did I ever feel aggressive. Logan’s trying so hard to suppress that violent, animal nature he inherited. It’s not his fault he’s a little wound up. Okay, so make that a lot, but he could easily let go and become like that creep Sabretooth. He’s determined to stay on the side of humanity, and I can only admire his willpower. 

Kitty breaks my train of thought. Heavily panting, she asks, “What’s the point of running around? I don’t get it. I’m not learning anything from this, except that I now know I hate to run.” 

Jubes got her answer ready, like usual. “I bet the pervert only wants to see bouncing boobies.”

This is where I step in again. Sometimes I feel like I’m Logan’s guardian instead of the other way around. “That’s not fair. He’s *never* looked at us that way.”

She sticks out her tongue. “Much to your chagrin.”

True, to some extent, but that’s not the point. “Bite me.”

“No thanks, Roguey. I think you’re hot and all, but I’d rather live.”

“Good choice. I don’t want another loony in my head.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jubes snorts before Kitty mingles into the conversation again. 

“Maybe he just wants us to be able to run when the bad guys come again?”

Jubes answers, “Flight over fight? Doesn’t sound like Wolvie to me.”

Our dear Shadowcat finally seems to have found her right pace. “Well, *he* will probably fight, but he wants *us* to run. You know, he’s protective like that.”

“True,” I agree. “And yes, I’d rather run, thank you very much.”

Jubes nods. “You should. Your power is tricky, but I can spark them and KitKat can always phase.”

“I’d rather run, too,” Kitty informs us. “So that means I really have to work it. By the time some bad guy is trying to grab me, I’m probably already dead by the lack of oxygen.”

Laughing, we make it through another round, meanwhile cursing Logan and this class. It’s nice he took over a few of Scott’s lessons, but we’re no soldiers. Running around like a damn race horse isn’t exactly my idea of amusement. 

Kitty breaks my brooding again, tapping her head. “Don’t you think it’s funny you only have guys up there?” 

As usual, Jubes answers for me. “That’s because women don’t use their dicks to think.”

“Eeww!” I tell them, grimacing. “No one was thinking with his dick when we touched. Well, except for Bobby, but those thoughts were gone soon enough.”

I almost sucked the life out of him, and I’m *not* talking about his dick here. Of course, I can’t blame the guy for his lack of horniness after that one. It’s a miracle we’re still together. Still, it would be nice if he’d make another pass at me. Everyone likes to feel desirable, killer skin or not. 

I look over my shoulder, and when said boyfriend sees me, one of those sad smiles appears again. He’s been showing me those ever since that god-awful day he’s lost his family, John and Jean. I wish he’d talk to me about it, but so far he says he’s fine. I hate being shut out. 

I don’t have time to brood some more, because Kitty apparently has a theory. “Bobby really must have a small one. It was kinda stupid to think he could resist your mutation. You get Logan on his knees, and look at the guy. He’s practically invincible.”

We all glance at our teacher, and I ignore the fact that I don’t feel like defending Bobby’s manliness. Not that I have any knowledge about it. I didn’t get a lot of thoughts or memories from him, and I seriously doubt he’s gonna try to touch me ever again so I’ll probably never find out.

Shoving those depressing thoughts to the back of my head, I grin when we all let out a collective sigh. Scowling his way through these lessons or not, none of us can’t deny Logan’s sex-factor. We’re girls, we’re straight, and we have eyes. Sue us. 

“You know,” Jubes starts, “if ol’ Mags’ dick fits his ego--” 

Kitty puts a hold to that one. “Gross! I do *not* want an image of Magneto’s genitals!”

Miss Jubilee shows her best mischievous grin. “Bet it looks like a little, pink, shriveled shrimp.”

“Jubes!”

“Okay, okay. Let’s talk about someone else’s dick then. Logan’s?”

“Oh, no,” Kitty moans. “Let’s just concentrate on those laps, shall we? I’m panting like crazy already and I’m afraid I’ll die if we’re going down that road.”

“I second that,” I eagerly back up Kitty. Jubes is always trying to make me say things about Logan no one knows. “I think you’ve pictured us enough meat for one day.”

Jubilee rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. “Fine, no perving during Combat Class. Damn, you guys are *so* boring. Just as boring as the funeral tomorrow.”

Kitty protests again. “That’s low, even for you. I know you never liked Jean, but you could at least pay some respect to her ceremony.”

“Yes, mom,” Jubes teases back. “I’ll behave.”

Well, that should be a first. Maybe miracles never cease to exist.

* * *

I can’t say I knew Jean. Not like the others did. That’s partly because I didn’t had the time to get to know her, and partly because I didn’t *want* to. I had my reasons, of course. One of them was plain jealousy. She was my rival when it came to Logan’s attention. I’ll be honest about that. I wanted him for me. Just for a little while. Until I was back on my feet again. I just wanted his attention, and his friendship. Undividedly. And it was selfish, I know. 

Not that it matters. It doesn’t change a goddamn thing. Jean is still dead and I’m left wondering what kind of person I’m burying today. Maybe she and I could’ve been friends if I’d taken the proper time to get to know her. Something tells me we could. I guess I’ll never find out. 

It’s ironic though. Even in death Jean keeps Logan away from me. Maybe I deserve it. Or maybe I’m being too much of a drama queen again. He and Scott went back to Alkali Lake two days after her sacrifice. Scott didn’t want to grieve over some empty coffin, and I can totally relate to that. It would be fake, somehow. The Professor understood as well, but since he can’t find the deceased with Cerebro, Logan’s tracking skills were Scotts only option. 

Logan sniffing Jean for Scott. I think it’s best to not even go there.

Logan found her, of course. The water level had rapidly lowered, and yesterday, almost a week after her death, Jean’s remains were finally traceable. When we talked about it in our room, Kitty told me the temperature of the water was cold enough to slow down the decomposition of her corpse, but the process would rapidly increase in the air. Logan had to be quick. 

I have no idea in what state he must’ve found her. I bet she wasn’t that pretty anymore. Okay, so that was mean of me. Especially now, when I’m staring at her coffin. It must’ve been awful for Logan and Scott to see her all swollen up and greenish. Well, not that I actually *know* she looked like that, but that’s how I picture someone who drowned. Maybe she wasn’t even whole anymore. Maybe she’s lost some limbs along the way. Gross. 

Why am I thinking these things? Why do I have such a morbid imagination? Look at the people who loved her. Scott is heartbroken, but he’s holding up okay. So is the Professor. Bobby’s on my left, his face all serious and stern. I’m not sure if he’s doing okay, but if I ask he’ll say he’s fine. I don’t buy it, but I don’t know what to do to make him talk.

Everyone has to go wild once in a while, right? Cut through the restraining ropes and freak out. Somehow it doesn’t seem to be the case around here though. It’s scaring me how composed they all are. Don’t they feel the frustrated, chocked up scream inside? Or are they trying to ignore it, just like I do? And what will happen when we all surrender to the feeling? Chaos? Are those composed attitudes just films of deceit to cover up our stress?

We’ve all been very busy dealing with the practical side of the past events. Rebuilding the mansion, taking care of the security, dealing with the President, making new plans for the team… No one really got to talk about what’s bothering inside. All fears and worries seem to be controlled during the day, but in the sleepless nights they awake like zombies crawling out of their graves. 

Ugh.

I really have to keep my thoughts in check. It must be the setting. It’s creeping me out, and I wonder what everyone is thinking. 

‘Ro looks pale. There are lines in her usually serene face, and her eyes have lost their glow. I bet she misses Jean terribly. They were so close. 

Logan is watching us from a distance. It both annoys me and it’s something I’d expected. He’s the only one of the adults who didn’t dress up. For some reason that annoys me as well. Then again, what does it matter? A suit sure doesn’t shield him from the pain he must be feeling. 

I haven’t had a chance to actually talk to him yet since the day he came back from his trip to Alkali Lake. I wanted to find him later that night, but Bobby suddenly wanted to hang out together all day, and then the attack happened. Even though we’ve spend an entire night in the car together, it wasn’t the right time to get to know each other better. I hope to catch him alone soon and tell him I’m here if he needs someone to talk to. I’m sure he’ll say everything’s okay though. Just like Bobby. Just like the rest of them. 

I’m tired of this ceremony. ‘Ro is speaking now. Jubes isn’t paying attention. She’s whispering something to Kitty, making KitKat shake her head in annoyance. I don’t really know why Jubes never liked Jean. Maybe because they were so different. Jean was so calm and poise while Jubes is anything but. She’s a spark of firework, that one. Her mutation fits her like a glove. 

Oh, good. Seems like we’re wrapping it up now. I should be ashamed of myself for being so insensitive, but I’m not very good at faking emotions. All I feel is tiredness. I’m tired of trying to be a responsible adult while I’m not. Christ, I’m seventeen. Ever since my mutation hit, I feel like I’m knee deep in trouble. I don’t have the energy left to grieve over someone else. I’m sure Jean was a wonderful person, but right now, my priorities are trying to get back into a somewhat normal, regular life again. 

I’m sorry about that, Jean.

* * *

I’m on my way to Logan’s room.

Jubes blabbered something about throwing Jean a farewell-party when we left the ceremony, but Bobby just glared at her, making her roll her eyes. I told them I’d join up later and left. 

I didn’t want to tell them I was going to find Logan. I certainly didn’t want to tell Bobby. I don’t want him to be any more jealous than he already is, but I don’t want to ignore Logan either. He’s been there for me since the moment he let me climb into his truck. It’s time to return the favor. It’s not his fault my boyfriend suffers from insecurity issues. 

Logan’s in his room, just like I’d been expecting. 

I knock on the already open door and ask, “Hey. Got a minute?”

He grabs a towel from the closet and turns around, his usual scowl instantly fading when he sees me standing in the doorway. “Sure.”

I’m always a bit surprised by the way he seems to think it’s perfectly normal for me to seek him out. It’s such a weird idea that I know so much about him while he doesn’t know anything about me. Still, he never makes me feel like I’m a burden. 

Eyeing the sports bag on the bed, I ask, “Going to the gym?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

He tilts his head and gives me one of those intense stares. Jubes calls it eye-porn, but I’m pretty sure he’s just scanning me. Still, it makes me sorta uncomfortable for a whole lot of reasons I’m not going to explore. 

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because… if you want to talk to someone, about… about what might be bothering you, I want you to know I’m here.”

Great. I just made an idiot of myself.

He just shows me a hint of a smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine. How ‘bout you?”

“I’m okay, too. ‘Ro’s going to teach me how to fly the Jet.”

Okay, that’s so random. Why am I telling this? I should go back and hook up with the friends my own age. 

Turning around to continue packing his stuff, he answers, “Good. Gonna take some lessons myself.”

That surprises me, and I take a few steps into his room. “Really? I thought you didn’t like it up there.”

“I don’t, but I don’t like just sitting there and watching us crash either.”

Figures. He hates being depended on others. 

“Cool. I might end up as your co-pilot,” I fantasize out loud, and it’s making him smirk when he picks up the bag. 

“Fine by me. You did a damn good job before.”

He affectionately stomps me on my shoulder and swaggers his way past me to the hallway, leaving me utterly astonished in his room.

I’ll be damned. That was a compliment. An actual compliment. 

I clear my throat, straighten my back, and smile. 

I *did* do a good job. Charles had said so himself. So had ‘Ro. It wasn’t my fault the Jet couldn’t take off. Well, it was, sort of, but if I hadn’t crashed there in the first place, we all would’ve been dead by now. I’ve been trying to tell myself that over and over again, but I’ve been avoiding Scott, just in case. I don’t know if he’s going to blame me for Jean’s death. He’s trying to keep himself together, and one wrong word might set him off or something. I don’t want to be the one who makes him fall apart. He might take the rest with him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bobby, you there?”

“Yeah.”

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

“Hey,” I say, quietly. “How’re you doing?”

Seems like I have been asking that a lot these past few days. 

“Fine.”

Sighing, I sit down on the foot of his bed. 

Why is he shutting me out? He’s had a pretty good life up until his parents dumped him. He was one of the few who actually still *had* parents all these years. I’m sure it’s a shock to him that the most trustworthy people in his life threw him away like some worthless piece of nothing, but so far he’s been pretty apathetic about it. 

“Please, talk to me,” I try again, but his eyes never stop staring at something interesting above him. 

“About what?”

“About what’s obviously bothering you.”

“A lot has happened. It would be strange if I weren’t bothered by it.” 

“We are all affected, but at least we talk about it. You’re not.” 

Now Bobby’s baby blue eyes finally look at me. “I don’t feel like talking. There is nothing to talk about.”

He sounds like a moping kid. He looks like one as well. Still, I’m not going to make a scene. I’m the loyal girlfriend, after all. “Okay. Just remember I’m here if you want to talk, okay?”

When is someone going to say those words to me?

“I know,” he says, smiling reassuringly, and then he’s turning to his side and tapping the empty spot next to him. “Do you want to join me for a while?”

Actually, yeah. That’s a good idea. I could use a nice snuggle. 

I cuddle up in his arms and make sure our faces don’t touch. I nuzzle his sweater instead. 

He’s got his room to himself now. John was his only roommate, and now that all this stuff is removed, the room seems kind of abandoned. Cold, somehow. No pun intended. 

I’m pondering whether to tell him about the compliment Logan gave me earlier but decide against it. Bobby and I have some kind of unspoken rule: I don’t talk about Logan when I’m around my boyfriend. He hasn’t forgotten that he owes his life to the man I call my best friend, but it doesn’t mean they’re buddies all of a sudden. 

Bobby can be so much like Scott sometimes. No wonder they’ve been getting closer and closer these couple of days. They’re both the *good* guys, and they’re both suffering a great loss right now. 

I’m not saying Logan isn’t on the right side when it comes to good and bad in a black and white kinda way, but when push comes to shove, he’s more the ‘preferably dead because that’s no threat’ kinda guy. I’m with him in that department. It’s not something I got from touching him. It’s entirely me. It makes me wonder, does that make me some grey shade of ‘good’?

“Rogue?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you mind if I join Scott to get some parts for the Mustang?”

Oh. I didn’t expect that one. Is this going to be some sort of male bonding-grieving thing while restoring Scott’s 1965 Ford?

“Of course not. Where are you guys going?”

“Some place called The Paddock. It’s in Knightstown, Indianapolis.”

“Whoa.” I scoot back so I can look at him. “That’s quite a trip.”

The smile he shows doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. I think we’ll be back by Saturday. This place had that one special part, and Scott needs to get away for a while.”

“And so do you.”

He shrugs. “Well, I don’t mind leaving this place for a few days.”

I wonder if that’s got something to do with me. Like, he needs to think about us or something. Better give him some space. I don’t want to be clingy. 

“Okay,” I tell him, forcing a smile on my face as well. “Have fun.”

Pulling me back into his arms, he kisses the top of my head. “You’re the best.”

Right. Then why doesn’t he want to talk to me?

* * *

Friday night. 

I’m lying on my bed, reading Pride and Prejudice. Jubes and Kitty are probably downstairs for Movie Night, and it’s nice to have the room to myself right now. 

Scott’s usually the one who picks something to watch on Fridays, and even though he and Bobby aren’t here today, the tradition continues. The kids crave a normal rhythm again, so this time ‘Ro’s deciding what to watch. 

I usually share a love seat with Bobby, and Jubes used to snuggle up with John. They weren’t together or anything as far as I know, but it was more a convenient ‘Friday Night Make Out’ thing. We’re both alone now, but I don’t feel like sharing seats with anyone tonight. I’ll just stay up here, with Mr. Darcy as my company. It’s not half-bad even though I’m having a hard time concentrating. 

So much has changed. We can pretend everything is fine, but we all feel the emptiness both Jean and John left behind. Our new doctor is some guy called Henry McCoy, and he seems kinda nice but it takes a while to get used to him. I still have to blink twice when he walks by in all his blue and furry glory. I believe he’s some kind of genius, but he’s spending his days mostly in the lab. He and Kurt were instant friends though. Must be the mutual blue-thing. Like, the Blue-Brothers. Heh. 

Surprisingly, Logan seems to be socializing with Kurt quite a lot. Okay, socializing in his own way, but Logan voluntarily spending time with another human being is quite rare. I saw him talk to Dr. McCoy, too. Maybe blue is his favorite color. 

“You busy?” Logan’s voice suddenly startles me, and I almost shriek. 

Hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaning against the door frame, it’s obvious he’s been standing there for quite a while. I had left my door open, but I hope I didn’t pick my nose or something embarrassing like that. 

I sit up and straighten my clothes the best I can. “Not really. Come in. The others are downstairs.”

Like he cares where Jubes and Kitty are. Ugh, I’m such a twit sometimes. 

He enters my room, and it’s weird to see him in here. He doesn’t fit between the Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp posters – respectively Kitty’s and Jubes’ share to spice up the walls. It’s so… teenage-y.

If he notices my awkwardness, he ignores it pretty good. Pulling out a desk chair, he turns it around, swings one of those jean-clad legs over it and sits down, his arms casually crossed over the back. “I heard Ice and Cyke are camping.”

“Yeah.”

Just a plain, stupid ‘yeah’. I can’t think of something else to say. His presence sorta overwhelms me. What’s he doing here anyway? 

He’s probably thinking the same, because he asks, “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

I shrug, not very eager to share my melancholic mood. “I don’t know. Why aren’t you?”

“Movie sucks.”

That makes me smile. “Well, good I didn’t go then.”

Smirking, he asks something I never thought he would. “Wanna go out?”

For a few seconds I can only stare at him, trying to comprehend the sentence, and when I’ve found my voice again, I stammer, “Out? Like, ‘out’ out?”

He raises an eyebrow. “How many ‘outs’ are there?”

Great. Why am I always making an ass out of myself when he’s around? This isn’t a date. Logan never dates. And even if he did, he’d never ask *me*. 

Jumping up to grab my coat, I ask, “Where are we going?”

He stands up too. “Dunno. Grab a bite somewhere. And I really need a beer.”

“Okay. I have to tell ‘Ro first.” 

Up goes the eyebrow again.

“House rules,” I explain, and I just know I’m blushing. 

This is all kinds of wonderful. Why is this man still trying to be my friend? I can’t even hang out without asking permission first because I’m still underage. Ugh. 

“Kay. Gonna grab my jacket. I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says, and he’s gone in the blink of an eye. 

For a moment, I’m left wondering if he was here at all, but then I look at my chair and see he didn’t shove it back under my desk. I’m quite compulsive when it comes to tidying my side of the room, so yeah, his presence wasn’t some sort of hallucination. My fantasy tends to be overactive at times. The amounts I pictured Logan asking me out on a date--

Okay, stop. 

He didn’t ask me on a date. We’re buddies, nothing more. I’m so not paying attention to that odd combination of something fluttery and guilt in my stomach. I’m gonna grab a bite with a friend. Just a friend. Nothing to feel guilty about. Bobby’s out with a friend, too, right? My friend happens to be a very attractive man who saved my sorry ass several times. A friend who promised to protect me, and who’s willing to give his life for mine. 

It’s no big deal. 

Nope.

No big deal at all.

* * *

“You think you already know how to fly a plane?” I ask, munching on a greasy hamburger while Logan’s downing his beer quite rapidly. 

He took me to some diner, and we’re sitting opposite from each other in a booth. 

Staring at his bottle, he seems to think about my question. “Dunno. Maybe. Why?”

“Well,” I explain after picking out the onions, “I kinda knew what to do when I decided to get the Jet to you. You know, at Alkali Lake. I asked Charles if Erik might’ve been a pilot, but as far as he knew Erik can only lift a plane with his powers. I doubt the knowledge came from David, Bobby or John, so that leaves you.”

“David and Bobby?” he asks, quite suspiciously, and I flush beet red. 

Shit. I forgot he doesn’t know I kissed Bobby, and I also keep forgetting he doesn’t know all other details of my life. 

“David’s the boy I got my first kiss from. The one I told you about on the train? And Bobby was convinced I couldn’t hurt him, so he tried to kiss me, too.”

He orders another beer. “And?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “And… it turned out to be a complete disaster, of course. He wasn’t seriously hurt of anything, but it wasn’t fun either.”

He doesn’t react, and I wonder if he knows what happened with John. He was shot at the time, so he wasn’t exactly aware. 

Pointing at my head, I ask, “Do you know how I got John up there?”

“Yeah, Chuck told me. Good thinkin’.”

Another compliment? Whoa. 

“Thanks,” I mumble, suddenly a little uncomfortable with so much praise from someone who means so much to me. 

It scares me a little. I don’t want to count on him too much. I know he’s risked his life several times to save mine, but still, I can’t let myself rely on him forever. According to life standards we’re still strangers, after all. 

It’s kind of funny really. Every time we’re trying to get to know each other, someone manages to interrupt the moment. I’ve talked to him in his truck, but we never really got past an introduction because Sabretooth showed up. Then, after he’d spend some time unconscious in the lab, he came looking for me to ask me if I’ve been treated okay, and it was Jean who wanted him to come along to take some x-rays. 

Later that day I sat with Bobby and the gang for dinner while Logan sat at the teacher’s table. When I snuck into his bedroom that night, I learned it’s kinda hard to produce words with a punctured lung, and last but not least, in the train it was Magneto who spoiled the moment. 

It didn’t get any better after that. Just some stolen moments to have a word or two, but that’s all. Still, I feel we’re close. I hope we’re getting a chance to get to know each other for real now. 

Glancing around to see if anyone wants to fuck up this opportunity as well, I try to pick up our conversation again. 

“So, with the flying lessons and all. Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Yeah, for a while,” he answers, digging up a piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans. “Here. That’s my cell. I’m gonna do some field work for Chuck, so I’m not gonna be around much.”

Okay. So… this means he wants me to call him, right? That he’s cool with that. That we’re friends. Okay. Good. Yes. Very good. 

Trying to hide my sudden happiness, I look at the paper and ask, “When will you be back?”

“Probably at least every Friday. Gotta take over Combat Class for real.”

“Really? Cool!”

“Don’t cheer too loud. I’m not gonna teach you how to thumb wrestle.”

“Are you going to check out some leads of your own, too?”

“Nah,” he takes another sip. “I’m done with my past for now.”

Oops. Didn’t mean to make him upset. I noticed he doesn’t wear his tags anymore. I’ve heard Archie’s version, and I’m dying to ask for the full story but not just yet. I don’t want to go all intimate on our first friends’ night out. Instead, I opt for a more neutral response. “That bad, huh?”

“Not sure, yet.”

I don’t want to pry, so I tuck away his number after I put my gloves back on. I’ve already memorized it, but it’s not something I’m going to admit out loud. 

Logan’s looking around for our waitress, Bernice. “What about you? You gonna stay?”

“Yeah. I’m going to finish school first. Don’t know after that, but if I can fly the Jet, maybe I can become an X-Man. Be their pilot or something.” I don’t really have anywhere else to go, but I’m not going to tell him that. Instead, I continue, “It’s weird, you know. I’ve never pictured myself being some sort of superhero.”

He smiles, gesturing the waitress he wants to order something again. “Me neither. Want another drink?”

“Yeah, the same. Thanks.”

Handing the plate with hamburger left-overs to Bernice, I suddenly hear myself say, “I’m thinking about breaking up with Bobby.”

Shit. Where did that come from? And do I really want to discuss this with *Logan*?

He doesn’t seem to be surprised or uncomfortable though. Keeping a straight face, he asks, “Why?”

I shrug a little clumsily. “I’m not sure if I’m in love with him.”

“Shouldn’t you find out first?”

Of all answers, I never thought he’d pick that one.

“Maybe. It just… it’s all so complicated.”

“We live in a complicated world, kid. Why would love be any different?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble, not daring to look at him. “I thought it’s supposed to be something fun. Like, love equals happiness. Or at least something close to it.”

He snorts. “What does your gut tell you?”

If I’m feeling something close to disappointment, I tell myself to blame the burger. I really don’t have anything to feel upset about. Surely I didn’t expect him to encourage my ditch-the-boyfriend strategy. 

“My gut is confused. Just like the rest of me.”

“Then don’t decide until you’re back on track. You want me to talk to Ice?”

I sigh. “No. It’s got nothing to do with him. This is entirely me. I’m being silly. Let’s just forget I mentioned this.” I try to flash him a smile. “You’re right. It’s been a rough time, and we’re all upset one way or the other. This is not the time to make decisions like that, so let’s just drop it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ugh. This is stupid. What was I thinking? Never mind answering that. Whatever it was, I’m not going to think it again. 

Glancing up at the man in front of me, I say, “I know this is going to sound a little stupid, but I just keep forgetting you don’t know me all that well. Not like I know you.”

He meets my eyes, casually leaning back in this seat. “Then tell me something about yourself.”

I didn’t expect that answer either. Guess I don’t know him that well after all. 

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

Um… lemme think. What to tell? Is this the official start to a real friendship? Hanging out and getting to know the person you risked your life for? What if he decides he doesn’t like me? That would suck big time. On the other hand, I don’t think he’d promise to take care of me if he didn’t notice that strange connection between us. 

Or maybe I’m imagining things again. 

Well, I might as well find out now. Let’s start with a proper introduction. 

“Anna-Marie D’Ancanto, from Meridian, Mississippi,” I say, holding out a gloved hand. 

It makes him smile, and he actually shakes it. “Logan. Just Logan. From somewhere, probably Canada.”

“Nice to meet ya, Logan.”

“Ditto, kid.”


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time since Stryker’s attack there is absolutely nothing to do. It’s a lazy Saturday and I know I’ve been whishing for a day like this for the past two weeks, but now it looks like my body still isn’t used to relaxation. I’m far too restless to enjoy the peacefulness. Unlike my roommates. 

They are falling back into their usual habits rather easily. Kitty is energetically typing away on her laptop, and Jubes is giving herself a manicure. I’m bored out of my skull, ready for action, but instead I’ve spend the last two hours staring at a poster of Orlando Bloom, trying to figure out why the hell everyone is so caught up with the guy. I still don’t see it. 

While Orlando’s eyes are getting blurry, I recall last night with Logan. I don’t know how many times I’ve been fantasizing about it. I’ve lost count by now. 

I’ve found out he’s a pretty good listener. Which is very convenient since I tend to ramble a lot. I’m still slightly embarrassed about the amount of crap I’ve told him. I mean, I’ve talked about my house, my room, I’ve told him my about my plans for Anchorage, mentioned my parents, my grandparents, my creepiest teacher, my favorite classes, the whole shebang. It must’ve been so boring. 

At one point I told him about my mom playing the piano when David kissed me, and he wanted to know if I played as well, so I even told him about Mr. Tomasini, my piano teacher. He held a ruler under my wrists to make sure I kept my hands in the right position. I hated that. And if he didn’t use it to improve my posture, he swayed it in the air like his baton. More than once I wished the damn thing to break in half during his favorite staccato tunes of Mozart. It would’ve served him right. I really hate Mozart. 

That’s another thing I confessed Logan. I told him Beethoven’s my favorite, so then he wanted to know why, and I shared my love for tragic love stories and the way Beethoven’s music always sparked some sort of melancholic longing inside of me. I hated the way my cheeks started to redden when I told him that, but he merely showed me a faint smile and asked if I played the grand piano in the music room. 

That’s when I went all emotional but I tried not to show it too much. So far I’ve never even touched the beautiful Steinway. I’m sure it’ll make me miss home, and I didn’t exactly pack my favorite sheet music. Seeing the piano makes my heart ache and my fingers itch, so I just try to ignore the instrument the best I can. It belongs to my past. To the girl named Marie who needed a ruler to keep her wrists in the right position. 

Our night out pretty much ended there. We drove home in silence, but I don’t know if Logan wanted to give me some space or because he felt uncomfortable by my sudden quietness. The moment he parked the car I thanked him for the burger and fled out of sight to have a good cry all by myself. He must’ve thought I’m such an ungrateful brat. Ugh, how awful. We had such a promising start. 

“Why do you think he left?” Jubilee suddenly asks, not looking up from her nails, and I realize I’d been thinking about Logan once again.

“Who?” Kitty replies distractedly, her fingers racing over the keyboard.

“John.”

“No idea.”

Hmm. I’d been wondering when Jubes would bring it up. I always thought she had a crush on him, but she took his departure without any drama. Maybe she was too busy dealing with her own pile of crap to make a fuss about it. So much had happened that day. Or maybe I was just wrong about her feelings. 

“Because he felt an outcast,” I say, again studying Orlando’s dark eyes to see if he can enchant me with them. No such luck yet though. I prefer haz--blue. I prefer *blue*. 

Jubes snorts. “Now *that’s* an explanation. We’re all outcasts and I don’t see any of us hiding behind Ol’Mag’s cape.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” I mutter. “I just tell you what I felt in my head.”

From the corner of my eye I can see Kitty perk up. “How does it work anyway? How can you *feel* things in your head?”

Turning to my stomach and giving up on Mr. Bloom, I frown. “I don’t know. I just do.”

Jubes ignores us and sighs. “Yesterday I actually *watched* the stinkin’ movie instead of having a little bit of fun. I really have to find myself another guy.”

Kitty studies Jubes attentively. “That’s all you care about? Aren’t you upset John traded us for the bad guys?” 

“Of course I am,” Jubilee snaps. “I’ve known him for, like, forever. I never thought he’d ditch us just like that.”

“You mean ditch *you* like that,” Kitty corrects her, and it earns her a glare from Jubes Logan would’ve been proud of.

“No, Miss Frigid. I mean ditch *us*. As in ‘his friends’.”

Okay. I’m staying out of this. Let them vent their frustrations on each other. I’ve tried to stop them from fighting before. All I ended up with was the both of them turning against *me* because I didn’t defend either of them. I’ve learned my lesson, thank you very much. 

“I’m not frigid,” Kitty retorts. “I just want to be sure Pete’s the right guy.”

“There ain’t no such thing. You’re wasting your time and charm on cold showers and silly dreams. Colossus is good guy. Just like the Bobster.”

Okay. Now I’m going to pay attention again. “What about Bobby?”

Jubes rolls her eyes. “You guys are so friggin’ cute together. If you both weren’t so nice, everybody would be puking their guts out.”

“Exactly,” Kitty puts in her two cents, sighing dreamily. “You belong together.”

Huh? Am I the only one who’s having doubts about my relationship with Bobby then?

Apparently I am, because Jubes grabs a pillow and cuddles it. “You two are *so* the new Scott and Jean.”

Oh, no. Nonono. I strongly feel the need to object here. “Jean flirted with Logan.” 

Jubes frowns. “Your point? He’s freakin’ sexy.”

“True,” Kitty agrees again. “But he’s no long-term relationship material. He’ll stay just that – unreachable and a fantasy.”

Jubilee nods. “Truer words have never been spoken, my faithful friend. Besides, caged animals lose their beauty. I prefer him wild and free.”

“So he can be a shameless flirt,” Kitty adds with a grin.

Knowing they are right, I sulk, “He’s *not* an animal and he’s *never* flirted with us.” 

Kitty nods even harder. “You’re right. Credit where credit’s due. He’s at least twice our age *and* he’s our teacher now. It would be highly inappropriate.”

“Damn morals,” Jubilee grunts. “What I wouldn’t give to be his prey for a while.”

Hopping off her bed, sweet Shadowcat reaches for her purse. “Amen. Now, let’s do something fun. Shopping, anyone?”

Jubes’ up and ready in no time. “I’m in!”

“Sorry, guys,” I say, still thinking about the conversation, “Bobby’s back. I’ve promised to drop by the garage in half an hour.”

My friends don’t waste any time. “Okay, have fun!” and off they go, already bickering about who’s gonna drive the car.

I guess I’ll just stare at Orlando for another thirty minutes then.

* * *

“Hey, pretty,” Bobby greets me when I walk into a mess they call the workshop. His blonde hair is all messed up, and he’s got a smudge of grease on his cheek. He looks kind of cute. Even more than usual. And cuddly, too. 

I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist. “Hey. What’cha doing?”

He turns around in my embrace, pointing at something he was working on under the hood. 

“Checking the sleeves. Scott wanted to know whether to use chrome or iron piston rings.”

He likes to talk about this restoring-thing, and I like seeing him excited about something. 

“What’s the difference?” I ask, intrigued by the sight of the engine. 

“Chrome on chrome isn’t compatible.”

“Oh. Well… did you check the engine number?”

Huh? Where did that come from?

My boyfriend watches me with a surprised look on his smudgy face. “No. Why?”

My inner Logan answers, “If the engine’s originally equipped with chrome sleeves, there should be a letter ‘C’ next to it.”

Whoa. Thank you, sugar. Now hush up.

Bobby narrows his eyes at first, but then a bright smile breaks through. “Really? How do you know?”

Smiling back, I point to my head. “Got lots of guys up there.”

“Cool,” Bobby says, somewhat in awe staring at my forehead. “What else do they know?”

Well, great. I think I just transformed from his girlfriend into some kind of Engine-Oracle.

* * *

I need some air. I’ve spend the entire afternoon personality-hopping to help Scott and Bobby fix the Mustang. I have to admit I actually enjoyed it, but it was also exhausting to use Logan’s skills without taking his traits, too. He isn’t fond of ‘Ice’ and ‘Cyke’ and that’s an understatement. 

I’m going to meet Bobby again later tonight, and I’m thinking about telling him my real name. We’ve been together for almost four months now. It’s sort of weird he doesn’t know yet. I wanted to tell him sooner, but for some reason there never really was a good moment. If we’re going to be together for real, the least I can do is tell him my name. 

Lost in thoughts, I suddenly notice I’ve ended up at Jean’s grave. Why on earth did I walk this direction? Oh well, might as well pay her a visit. Bet she’s lonely. Or something. Whatever. 

Nervously glancing around to see if anyone catches me here, I sit down on the grass and make myself comfortable. 

“Hey, Jean,” I whisper. “How are you holding up?”

It stays quiet of course. Just some rustling leaves in the wind and children yelling in the background. 

“I hope… I hope you’re doing okay. Wherever you are,” I continue, feeling a bit silly to talk to a marble rock. “I’ve spend the afternoon with Bobby and Scott today. Scott misses you terribly, but you don’t have to worry. We all look out for him. He’s finally restoring that old Mustang he kept in the back of the garage. You know, the one you said he wanted to use for your wedding day. He’s doing a good job and wants to donate it to a museum when it’s finished. There are too much painful memories attached to keep it, he said.”

Ugh… what am I babbling about the damn car? And what am I doing here, anyway?

Eying the ground, I suddenly feel overwhelmed by grief and wholeheartedly regret I didn’t take the time to get to know her. She gave her life to save us, and I didn’t even know her. 

“Can you hear me?” I ask quietly, still not expecting an answer but giving in to the urge to test anyway. “Are you in heaven? Is there even such a thing as heaven?”

A deep voice behind me answers, “If there is, I’m sure she’s VIP.”

I almost jump out of my skin by Logan’s reply. Scrambling to my feet, I clutch my hands over my heart. “Jesus Christ! Don’t you *dare* doing that again! I almost died too, you know!”

Despite the fact I’m dead-serious, no pun intended, Logan’s amused by my reaction. He shows me a half-grin and walks up to me. “Sorry.”

“You really should stop sneaking around like that. That’s the second time you almost scare the crap outta me.”

“Time to train those senses of yours.”

Ugh, whatever. I really have to catch my breath here. I think I’ve just gained five years in age. 

Eying him suspiciously and not particularly happy to see him after my childish behavior last night, I ask, “So… what’s up?” 

Before he can answer, I suddenly know already. I’m at Jean’s grave. Maybe he wanted to be alone with her. 

Great. Now I really feel stupid for my skittishness. The world doesn’t revolve around me entirely. He’s here for Jean, not me. 

Taking a few steps backwards, I mutter, “Never mind. I get it. I’ll leave you… uh… you two alone.”

Staring at the marble stone, Logan says, “Nah, you don’t have to go.”

“No, it’s okay. I understand.”

“Stay.”

When I glance up to meet his eyes, I expect him to shield his emotions like he usually does, but he manages to surprise me again. There are definitely emotions there, but I’m not sure what kind yet. He doesn’t really seem sad. Or angry. It’s not even something annoyed. I think he looks… resigned?

Hypnotized by the hazel, I wonder why I always feel so small when he’s around. So insecure and vulnerable. I’m Rogue, for God’s sake. I’m supposed to be strong and recalcitrant and sassy. I’m supposed to be a pain in the ass, but with Logan, somehow, I’m always just Marie. Marie who misses her piano and rambles about Beethoven’s love life. God, I hate her. 

“I really do understand, you know,” I tell him. “I know how you cared for her.” I try to make it sound simple, but I still feel a sharp sting in my chest when I say those words. 

Logan casually shrugs. “We all did. She was that kind of woman.”

“Nice try.”

He sighs and watched me like he’s making up his mind about something. “Sit down.”

Not really sure where this is going, I obey and study Jean’s grave again. 

Logan sits down next to me and starts cautiously. “Look, you’re right. I liked Jeannie. She was easy to talk to. I was also attracted to her because she was beautiful. But I didn’t love her like Scooter did. Like he still does. And she loved him back. She had a thing for pansies.”

I glance over, not really sure what to believe anymore. “How do you know? Not the pansy-thing, but… the rest.”

He’s watching the marble. “She told me. I might’ve loved her if I’d known her longer. A small part of me is thankful I didn’t get the chance. I could’ve had her, but she’d never be happy with me.”

Spoken by someone else, and those words would’ve been awfully conceited. I know they’re true though. He isn’t bragging about this, but I almost wish he was. I don’t want to hear even Jean wasn’t able to resist him. Calm, composed, rational Jean who loved Scott. I don’t want to know how lust can somehow erase the vows of love that easily. It’s just wrong. 

Trying not to sound too judgmental, I ask, “So… time saved you a broken heart?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a sad smile around his lips. 

I think about it. 

Why can’t you love someone from the moment you meet? Is falling in love at first sight always lust then? Does love always need time to grow? And if it does, why do I feel so much for the man sitting next to me? I hardly know him if you count the hours we’ve spend together. What is it I’m feeling? Is it gratitude?

“What about love at first sight?” I ask. “Does it exist, you think?”

“It’s bullshit.”

His short reply makes me laugh. “Well, I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up.”

Smiling, he stands up and holds out his hand. “Let’s go. Rain’s coming.”

“Okay.” I’m not going to let the opportunity to touch another human slip due to feministic independence, so I reach out and he pulls me up. As soon as I’m standing, his hand lets go of mine, but I can still feel his warmth, even through the fabric. He walks up to the mansion and I follow. “Oh, and… by the way, I think I forgot to thank you last night, but I had a great time.”

There. I hope that didn’t sound too retarded. 

“Me too.”

Trying to keep up with those long legs, I look up to see if he means it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I might even make you my drinkin’ buddy.”

Oh, boy. That sounds promising. 

“Well, I’m all yours, sugar.”

Smirking, he ruffles my hair and jumps out of reach. “I know.”

Ugh, bastard.


	4. Chapter 4

“Mary Poppins! Mary fucking Poppins!” Jubes despairingly throws her hands in the air. “No wonder the Bobster likes to be crammed under the hood of a damn relic right now. Who wants to see Mary Poppins on a Friday night?”

Kitty shrugs, eying the pool table in concentration. “I like Mary Poppins.”

“Me too,” Jubes answers. “Just not on a Friday night. Can’t we go on a strike or something?”

“Maybe we can suggest a double movie,” I try while Kitty sinks another stripe in the corner pocket. That’s her fourth in a row. “One for the kids and one for us.”

Jubes nods, turning up the stereo. “I second that.” She grabs a cue and starts dancing around it, suggestively rubbing the shaft and chalking the tip. 

Kitty shakes her head and tries to focus, but she misses the shot. “Aww, shucks.”

“Finally,” I sigh. “Kit, you’re so good. You could totally make money with it. I bet all those guys in the bars will underestimate you.”

She blushes. “It’s just all about the right calculations.”

Jubes has a different opinion. Grinding the cue, she wiggles her eyebrows. “Calculations, my cute little ass. It’s all how you handle a stick, ladies.” 

“Hmph,” Kitty replies none too gracefully. “It’s a cue stick, not a broom. If you want to boycott kid’s movies, don’t pretend it’s a Nimbus 2000.”

Jubes instantly stops. “Dude, you’re just too much. You wouldn’t even know the difference between pole dancing and Quidditch if they’d make you climb a pole in nothing but nipple tassels.”

Kitty sticks out her tongue. “Get a life, Jubilee.”

“I already have one, thank you very much. It’s a sex life I’m lacking.”

I roll my eyes. How they can stand to live in the same room is beyond me. They are so different, and yet, their fights never last long. “Cut it out you two. Kiss and make up. I’m PMS-ing, and you know what that’s all about.”

Frowning, Kitty answers, “Oh, boy. Keep that temper in check.”

Jubes can’t hold back a smirk. “Poor, Roguey. PMS is a bitch and so are you.”

I sigh. “True. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I’m having a date with my guy. Let’s see if I can keep myself from biting his head off.”

My friends laugh. “Yep, we’ve got an inner-Wolvie on the loose.”

* * *

How do you tell your real name to your boyfriend when you’ve been dating for almost four months already?

I’m in Bobby’s room, and my boyfriend’s reading a book on his bed about Mustangs - the cars, not horses, and I’m trying to figure out how to bring it up. 

“Bobby?”

He doesn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“Remember that first day? When you asked me my name?”

Still not looking up. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you ask for my real name?”

Now he finally meets my eyes. “I thought you’d tell me when you’re ready.”

Oh. Yeah. Figures. 

“Well, I’m ready now.”

It makes him smile and he puts away the book. “Yeah? So what’s it gonna be? Bobby and --?”

“Marie,” I tell him. “Bobby and Marie.”

“Marie.” He repeats my name, still smiling. “Bobby and Marie. Cool.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. Am I the only one who knows?”

Oh, oh. Tricky question, but I’m not gonna lie. 

“No. I told Logan when we first met.”

His face falls. “Oh. Of course.”

“He asked. He didn’t just accept ‘Rogue’, and I trusted him.”

Not really meeting my eyes, he says, “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” I say, more annoyed than I wanted to show. “I don’t like it when you’re doing this. You know you have nothing to worry about.”

Looking up with cold, unreadable eyes, my boyfriend huffs, “You’re so naïve. He’s all over you. Hell, you’re all over him as well. What about last Friday?”

“What about it? We’re friends. We sometimes hang out with each other. Just like you and Scott.”

“Sure. Like me and Scott.” He sits up straight. “In case you haven’t noticed, Scott and I are both *guys*. We’re checking the *car*, not each other, and we don’t take off to some bar. You can get to know each other right here in the Mansion too.”

Okay, now he’s pissing me off. He makes it sound like I’m doing something wrong. I’m *not* Jean, damnit. Logan and I are friends. Just friends. Why can’t he accept it? 

Trying to keep my tone even, I stand up and bite back a flaring temper. “You’re my boyfriend, but you don’t get to pick my friends. Logan is an important part of my life. If you want to be with me, you have to deal with him as well. Take it or leave it.” With those words I stomp out into the hallway, slamming the door behind me with a big bang. 

Damnit, it’s not my fault he feels intimidated by Logan’s presence. I’m *not* gonna cut Logan out of my life because he can’t handle our friendship. Logan means too much to me. Maybe even more than Bobby. 

And *that’s* a really unsettling thought.

Suddenly I’m even more upset, and I run to my room and grab my coat. 

I think it’s best to take a nice long walk over the grounds to clear my head a little. I don’t want to break up with my boyfriend in a fit of insanity. Damn PMS. Why do I always get into fights this time of the month? I could really use a good woman to woman talk right now. I wonder how Jean dealt with Scott if he was being a jealous, insecure, nagging prick. 

I run down the stairs, and - great. There is the object of my boyfriend’s insecurity. He’s measuring the space between the front door and the fireplace while Kurt is making notes. It’s too late to creep out the backdoor now. He already noticed me, looking up as I’m still coming down. Kurt follows his example and smiles caringly. “Guten abend, Rogue.”

Knowing it’s not fair to be a bitch to either of them, I grit my teeth and grunt, “Hey. Gotta go.” I stomp past poor Kurt without even giving him so much as a glance. Let’s hope they’ll take the hint and leave me alone. 

Then again, Kurt’s always good company, and he’s Logan’s friend. Maybe he’ll know Logan’s point of view when it comes to our friendship. It would be nice to know where I stand, so I can explain our odd relationship a little better to Bobby. So far, my boyfriend doesn’t want to hear my version despite the fact I’ve told him a thousand times he doesn’t have anything to fear. I don’t know what else I can do to take away his insecurities. It’s driving me up the wall. 

While I cross the lawn, I listen to all sounds around me. I don’t think there’s any bamfing activity behind me. My footsteps and heavy breathing are all I hear aside from the rustling leaves, an owl, and the wind. Oh, well. I’ll talk to Kurt another time then. I’ve reached the playground already, and I just want to sit down on one of the swings to calm down a bit. 

I’m in love with Bobby. Or at least, I think I am. I like his eyes and his smile. He’s cute. He’s handsome in a boyish way, but I feel like I don’t actually *know* him. I’m not even sure what I like about him apart from being flattered by his attention and his good looks. We don’t talk much. We’ve been together for four months, and I still don’t have a clue what’s going on inside his head. 

Okay, so I see a major case of hypocrisy coming my way. I never even told him my name until today, so pot, meet kettle.

Sighing, I push the swing in motion and look over the dark playground while I recall the last twelve months. How did life become so complicated? I just want a nice boyfriend, some friends to hang out with, and a family who accepts me for who I am. Is that too much to ask for? I guess, in this world as we know it, it is. 

Oh, crap. That silhouette coming my way is definitely Logan’s. I don’t need *him* to pick me up right now. What if Bobby decides to look for me and sees me talking to his so-called rival? It wouldn’t do our already fragile relationship any good, but it would be extremely silly to make a run for it now. 

Feeling a bit cornered, I decide to find out what Logan’s up to. Maybe he just wants some air as well. 

When he’s within my hearing distance, he doesn’t waste any time on small talk. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “Go back to… whatever you were doing.”

“I’m not good at taking orders. Ask Cyke.” 

“Ever tried obedience training? Works on dogs, too.”

Ow, I’m such a bitch. He didn’t deserve that, but I can’t come up with an excuse right now. I’m just too snappy to make it sound sincere.

He’s eyeing the construction of the swing next to mine, and that still pissed-off part of me hopes he’ll sit down and sag, but he doesn’t take the risk. Instead, with that easy grace of his, he climbs the rope ladder of the wooden play center in front of me. 

Sitting down on the deck between the slide and the overhead monkey ladder, he lights up a cigar. “What did I do?” he asks, taking a long, lazy drag. 

It’s pissing me off even more.

“You exist.”

He tilts his head. “’Scuse me?”

“You *exist*,” I repeat half-heartedly. “I’m tired of defending you.”

“Who asked you to?”

I sigh. “If I don’t, it looks like I’m agreeing with what people are saying about you. About us.”

It stays quiet for a while, and I can see he’s trying to figure what I mean by that. 

“Who says what?”

I know I’m being childish if I keep sulking like this, but I also hate being forced to talk just because I’ll look like an ass otherwise. It’s a lose-lose situation, so, grudgingly, I mumble an explanation. “Bobby’s jealous because you knew my real name before he did.”

“We met earlier,” he defends the matter with plain logic, and I have to admit he has a point. 

“True, but I just told him today.”

Now Logan lets out a compassionate whistle. “Dunno much about etiquette, but aren’t you supposed to introduce before you screw?”

I glare at him. “You’re the one to tell. Besides, we’re *not* screwing. We’re hardly at the groping-stage.”

Instantly his eyes drop to settle on my chest. “Right. So he’s gay.”

“What? No!” Offended by his implication, I stop the swing. “That’s stupid. Why would he be jealous then?”

Still eyeing my breasts, he smirks. “Maybe he likes *me*.”

“Oh, please! And could you stop staring like that?”

Because I like it way too much for my own good. 

“Observing. Not staring,” he tells me with a straight face and meeting my eyes again, but I suspiciously quirk an eyebrow and cross my arms over my boobs to block his view anyway. 

“There is a difference?”

“Staring is pleasure. Observing is gathering evidence. Lemme tell you, kid, if Drake’s not trying to get into your pants by now, he’s gay.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s *not*. We’re just… we’re careful. With my skin and all.”

“Right.”

“And why am I telling you this?”

“'Cause it's bothering you?”

Sometimes I just hate his logic. I really do. 

“Never mind,” I grunt, hopping off the swing and walking over to the rope ladder. I climb up the wooden deck and nudge him with my elbow. “Move over.”

He scoots aside and I sit down next to him. Leaning against the pole of the monkey bars, I wonder if maybe now is the right time to discuss his tags. They make a nice change of subject, and I still think it’s weird to see him without the metal chain around his neck. 

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” I tell him stubbornly. “Can I ask *you* a something?”

He seems to be in a rather chatty mood today, because he easily agrees. “Sure.”

“Artie told me you threw the tags away. I understand why you did it but I still miss seeing them.”

His answer is almost a growl. “They were junk.”

“Not to me they weren’t.”

He doesn’t respond, and I don’t want to press the matter. Besides, gushing over his tags would be awfully immature, not to mention embarrassing. I already made an ass out of myself by returning them in the car that horrible night. Now everybody knows I’ve slept with them. Ugh. No wonder Bobby is jealous sometimes. Logan is just too important to me, even though I really don’t know what’s going on between us. 

Why do we have such a weird relationship? I just can’t seem to define it. And why is it so important for me to label it? To make sure it stays safe? To make sure we don’t cross that line between friendship and something more? And if we did, would it be so bad? Well, apart from him being so much older, my teacher, not interested in me other than something paternal, *and* the fact I’m having a boyfriend?

Okay. I guess that was rhetorical. 

“Am I still up there?” he suddenly asks, pointing to my head, and I shove all other thoughts far out of sight. 

“Yeah.”

“Giving you a hard time?”

I sway my legs over the edge and stare at the swings. “No, not really. We’re good. Mostly. I sometimes crave a beer or a cigar, but then I remind myself it’s disgusting. That all the trouble the inner-you is giving me. The real you is a pain in the ass though.”

He chuckles and holds out his cigar. “Want one?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Well… okay.” Just to taste him. 

Of course, I take a drag and start coughing. 

“Eww. Gross. Nope, still don’t like it.”

“You have to learn to like it. Just like you have to get used to the taste of beer.”

“Ugh. I think I’ll pass. I don’t miss it, and don’t understand why I have to get used to something disgusting that will only make me nauseous or drunk. Not that you’d know what that feels like. Bet you woke up in the snow craving a beer, huh?”

“Yeah,” he answers, smirking. “Aside from wondering why the hell I was freezing my dick off.”

It makes me laugh. “I’m sure you’d grow another one.”

He jumps to the ground and rolls his shoulders. “Probably, but I’m kinda attached to this one.”

“Literally,” I giggle, admiring the way he moves and pushing away any form of guilt for ogling him. 

Holding out his hands to help me off the deck, I give in and let him lift me. I put my hands on his shoulders while his hands close around my waist. He’s always making me feel so fragile and girly while Bobby simply treats me as his best friend. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

As soon as I land safely on my feet in front of him, he lets go. “Feeling better?” he asks, and he loosely drapes an arm around my shoulders to guide me back to the mansion. 

“Yeah,” I admit with a casualness I don’t really feel. “All hunkey dorey again. Thanks.”

I just don’t get it. With Logan, I’m always a bit nervous with a hint of happy excitement tinged to it, while Bobby makes me feel relaxed and comfy. It’s all mixed up.

“Sorry for existing,” he says quasi-seriously, dropping his arm once he’s sure I’m coming along willingly. 

“Nah. I’m glad you are. My boyfriend just has to accept you’re a part of my life.”

“I can take him for a ride or something. Do the male bonding shit.”

“Aw.” I glance up at him. “You’re sweet, but I don’t think it’s gonna work. He’s totally into Scott.”

He smirks again. “Told you, gay.”

It makes me burst into laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

“Jubilee, do you feel my right hand?”

Jubes is limply hanging in Logan’s arms, his right fist pressed firmly against her stomach. The rest of the combat class students are staring at them with wide, surprised eyes, and even I’m curious what Logan’s gonna do.

“Uhm… yeah. Hard to miss,” Jubes stammers, just as shocked as the rest of us. 

She’d been blabbering about her new shirt while Logan tried to explain the meaning of his classes. He’d told her to pay attention, but she gave him a conceited look and answered she already knew how to defend herself because she’d been on the streets for months. 

I saw a flicker of irritation in his eyes, so when he asked her to come over, I knew she’d be in trouble. Before she knew what was going on, he had her bending backwards over his knee with both her hands behind her back in hand, and the other free to make a few incisions if necessary. He isn’t hurting her, but all students are holding their breaths. 

“Are you aware my hands can be deadly?” Logan asks calmly, and Jubes swallows, widening her eyes even more. She actually looks a bit scared, and instead of some sassy comment, she only nods.

“Good. Since you value your shirt more than your life, I’ll put it this way: if this was real combat, your shirt would be ruined.”

Again Jubes can only stare at Logan. She blinks twice before whispering, “Three holes, huh?” 

Logan’s eyes seek mine for a split second, and I know he’s thinking of the night when he accidentally stabbed me. “Six. You’re skinny.” 

“Ow. Uh… I think I got the point. I’ll pay attention… sir.”

“Thank you.”

He pushes her back up and releases her hands, his eyes attentively watching the group of students in his class. “From now on, I’ll work with you one on one. We’re gonna find a way to make your mutation useful in battle, sharpen your senses, and I’m gonna teach you to defend and attack during hand to hand combat. The next half hour, we’re gonna do an inventory of your powers. Your training schedule will be emailed later this week. Any questions?”

I hear Kitty, Pete, Bobby and Jubes mumble ‘no, sir’, and I grin. Bobby already knows what Logan can do, but the others are impressed. It’s just the five of us here, because this is going to be serious business. Logan will teach the younger students some basics, but we’re going to get drilled to be Xavier’s soldiers. It’s both scaring and exciting. 

“Whoa,” Kitty whispers next to me when Logan talks to Pete. “He’s quite something.”

“Yep,” I agree, suddenly feeling a bit proud I can call this man my buddy.

Jubes rubs her stomach. “Dude, I enjoyed every moment of it.”

Kitty laughs. “Dream on. You looked like you were about to wet your panties.”

Wiggling her eyebrows, Jubilee grins mischievously. “I was, but not out of fear.”

I roll my eyes behind her back, making Kitty burst into giggles. 

“What?” Jubes turns around. “I was *so* not scared.”

“Sure you weren’t,” I soothe her. “Now, let’s pay attention, okay? We don’t want your new shirt get ruined by at least nine inch blades.”

Kitty gasps. “Nine inch?”

Bobby’s standing close. “Yeah. Saw them during the attack. He’s an asshole, but he *does* know how to fight. We’re in good hands. Or claws. Whichever you prefer.”

I know I’ll prefer his hands, thank you very much, but I’m not gonna say that out loud. Bobby and I just made up again. 

After a few days of more or less ignoring each other, I finally had the guts to apologize for not telling him my name any sooner. That made him apologize for being such an idiot when it comes to Logan, and he admitted he might be a bit influenced by Scott’s opinion. We even made out a little. I guess you can say we’re in the middle of the groping-stage now. 

It’s a bit weird to start the whole physical thing without a kiss though. Whores don’t kiss either, right? 

Great, now that’s a cheery thought.

* * *

“Yo, guys! You decent?” Jubilee calls out from the other side of Bobby’s door, and I look up from my laptop. 

My boyfriend’s sitting on his bed, calculating something for geometry class. His eyes meet mine, and by seeing his expression, I giggle. It’s clear he wasn’t counting on a visit from Jubes. 

“Yeah, c’mon in!”

The door opens and she enters Bobby’s private domain with a huge grin on her face. 

That can only mean trouble. 

“Heya duders. Did I interrupt you two lovebirds?”

“Nope, we were being good. What’s up?”

“I just had an excellent plan. How about a party?”

She’s always trying to come up with reasons to party, but this time she’s got Bobby’s attention. 

“What? Now?”

“Yep.” 

He smiles and starts collecting his stuff. “Cool.”

“Woohoo! C’mon in and let’s get naked!” Jubilee shouts into the hallway, and she jumps on Bobby’s bed, pushing him aside. She reaches for the stereo, and a few moments later, loud pumping music fills the room.

Quickly I clear his desk, and then Pete and Kitty appear, carrying soda, glasses, and popcorn. The party parade is full swing in business again, and it makes me smile. I’ve missed nights like these. Things have been too serious for far too long. 

They join Jubilee on the bed, and Bobby sits on the window sill next to me. The music is a bit too loud, but no one really cares. It’s just a matter of time before ‘Ro of Scott will come over to tell us to keep it down. Until then, we’re going to enjoy it while we can. 

Since the attack, none of us is very willing to go out anymore. Even though the mansion didn’t prove to be the safe haven we all thought it was, we all know the world outside is even more screwed. At least the adults will be here to protect us if necessary. It’s a comforting thought.

Not willing to think about attacks and other kinds of calamity any longer, I hold up a bottle of coke. “Pete, want one?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Jubes wrinkles her nose. “Why can’t we have a beer? I’ve read you’re allowed to drink when you’re 16 in the Netherlands.”

Bobby goes in hardcore Scott-mode, and he’s not even kidding. “Yeah, there’s a lot of illegal stuff going on over there. You should be proud to be an American.”

She sighs. “Whatever, dude. I just want one beer. It’s a Saturday night and I am eighteen, damnit. If I can’t get laid, can I just, please, get a decent drink?”

“I second that,” Pete agrees, not noticing Kitty’s glare, and I think this definitely isn’t going to get him laid any time soon. Are they even together for real? I sorta lost track.

“Thanks.” Jubes looks at him like she’s just found a new friend, much to the chagrin of poor Shadowcat. 

“I can get us a real drink,” she suddenly says, probably to get the attention of Pete back again. “Well, maybe not beer, but I can sneak into the Prof’s cabinet.” 

Now she’s got everyone’s attention, and it makes her cheeks blush a nice shade of crimson. Nervously looking around, she shrugs. “Well… not that I’ve ever tried before or anything.” 

“Nice,” Pete says, grinning. “What’s in that cabinet?”

Kitty’s eyes start to twinkle, knowing she just scored, and while she explains her plan, I can’t help but smile when I see my friends all together. I miss John though. He was mostly either being an annoying snot or making out with Jubes, but still. He should’ve been here. 

Pete joins Kitty on her mission to rob the liquor-cabinet, while Jubes and Bobby start some silly banter about Bobby’s sense of style. Or, in Jubilee’s opinion, his lack of. He joins her on the bed again, and he starts tickling her sides while she tries to slap him. They are giggling, and I suddenly feel a bit jealous because it’s so easy for them to touch. 

“Roguey! Come and join us! We’ll have a threesome!” Jubilee yells. 

Bobby stops his tickling-session and smirks. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear anything brilliant coming from you, Lee, but I’ll have to give you some credit now.”

She whacks him over the head. “You moron. I bet you couldn’t even get it up if we both were on top of you!”

“Oh, yeah? Wanna find out? I’ve learned a thing or two from Logan’s class!” Still grinning, he rolls her over and pins her arm against her back. Despite her awkward position, Jubilee laughs. 

“Chica! Help me!”

I shake my head, knowing I’ll only ruin their fun. I can’t be as careless as they are with my skin. “You got yourself in this mess, girl. You’re on your own.”

“Guess I have to spark your boyfriend then!” They roll over and fall off of the bed, pulling a pillow and half the spread along with them. They burst out in laughter, and when Pete and Kitty show up again, they’re still trying to catch their breath. 

“What happened here?” Kitty asks when she sees the mess. 

“He was proving Jubes he could ‘get it up’,” I explain with a smile, but secretly I still feel a bit left out. 

Pete and Kitty exchange looks of confusion, but then they’re pouring drinks for all of us while I make sure everyone gets their fair share of popcorn. 

Raising my glass, I toast, “To friendship!”

“To love!” Kitty says with interesting pink colored cheeks.

“Absolutely!” Pete agrees, nodding.

“To the future X-Men!” is Bobby’s contribution, and for some reason I’m getting a disturbing image of him wearing Scott’s visor. 

“To that threesome I mentioned earlier!” Jubilee grins before taking a large sip. 

We all follow her example, but soon we start to cough and several comments like, “tastes like shit”, “damn!” and, “Jesus, what’s this?” are heard. It’s really strong stuff. I have to stay level headed. I don’t want to accidentally kill my friends because I’m too shitfaced to think straight. 

Pete pours himself another glass. “Hey, Rogue. How did the flying lessons go?”

Bobby perks up. “Now that was interesting. Tell ‘em!”

They all expectantly turn their heads, and I hastily swallow down another gulp. “It went good. Pretty good.”

“Pretty good,” Bobby huffs. “She took off and landed the jet perfectly fine in just three turns.”

I smile. “That was Logan, not me. It took me quite a bit longer.”

“Still, ‘Ro was stunned,” Bobby returns, and he tells the others what happened. 

Well, I guess he’s right. It *was* kinda cool. 

Logan, Bobby and I all took turns in the flight simulator with ‘Ro as our teacher. She patiently explained all the instruments, but when she was done, Logan stared at the control panel for a minute or two before taking of off almost flawlessly. I then knew my knowledge about flying the Jet must’ve been his. ‘Ro just gaped when he did some attack and defend maneuvers high in the air, and by third time he landed, ‘Ro told him he’d out-skilled them all. 

Logan wasn’t smug about it. He was in some sort of a pensive mood, probably lost in thoughts and remembering things. He pretty much left right after. 

When it was my turn, I wasn’t doing as good as my buddy, but ‘Ro was impressed nonetheless. She made a comment about me being lucky I inherited Logan’s skills, but I didn’t really listen. I was dying to talk to Logan in private about it all. I mean, it’s really weird to know all these things without actually knowing them. It’s just… creepy somehow.

But anyway, I still have a lot to learn when it comes to being a pilot. I know I’ll pull it off eventually, but Bobby was really frustrated at first. It was all very new to him. ‘Ro kept assuring him assuring and patting him on the back. She told him his results were perfectly average for someone who’d never flown a plane, so she decided to give us separate lessons from now on. Logan didn’t need any more, obviously. 

“Wow,” Peter says in awe after hearing Bobby’s story. “Is there something the man can’t do?”

Bobby chuckles. “Yeah. Keeping his paws off my girl.”

They all laugh, but my boyfriend’s so-called funny comment leaves caught between a rock and a hard place. I don’t want to be so damn protective of Logan, but I don’t want to give him a Judas’ kiss by laughing at Bobby’s not so funny choice of words. I really do feel like being torn between the two of them sometimes. 

Instead of choosing sides, I simply down the contents of my glass in one go. 

Oblivion, here I come.

* * *

Chemistry. What’s there to tell about chemistry?

Staring at the flickering cursor on my laptop screen, I hurt my brain to come up with a topic interesting enough to write an essay about. Unfortunately, my mind stays utterly blank so far, just like my screen.

Ugh. Come on, I have to think of something. Let’s write some random words and see if I can make something out of it. 

_'Chemistry._

_Molecules._

_Free radicals._

_Bonding._

_Adamantium.'_

Ugh, no. Let’s no go there. I need something else. Let’s focus on free radicals. I like the sound of it. 

Free radicals are molecules with an odd number of electrons. That sorta makes them the mutants in the molecularly-world. According to my book, they are creepy little thingies because they glue themselves to good cells to damage them. They have a degenerative character, and they are responsible for processes like aging and Alzheimer's disease. 

Hmm. Logan doesn’t age. No free radicals messing up his body. I’m the only one who can do that to him. Logan is the healthy cell, and I’m the free radical. Sorta like the opposite’s attract kinda thing. What’s it called again in terms of chemistry? Oh, right, ionic bonding. An attraction between ions of opposite charge, usually metal with non-metal.

Well, that makes sense. Logan’s got lot’s of metal and there is nothing in me. Well, except for my earrings, but I’m sure that’s irrelevant. Hmm. Maybe this chemistry stuff isn’t so hard after all. Still, I doubt I can write an essay about me messing up Logan’s body. I’m pretty sure things either go dark or porn-y. It’ll be nowhere near scientific.

The sound of my email notification is a welcome distraction. Nice timing, whoever you are. 

Huh? Mail from Logan? I didn’t even know he had email. I guess it’s because he’s an official teacher now. 

I open the message an find the schedules for his class. First Pete, than Bobby, Jubes’ next, and then Kitty and me together. 

I push the reply-button and type, _'Howdy, Mr. Logan. I’m with Kitty? Jubes will be so jealous of our threesome.'_

The moment I hit ‘send’ I suddenly realise it might be a little too flirty. We sometimes exchange silly banter, but a written joke might look totally different. He *is* my teacher now, and I don’t want him to get into trouble. I also don’t know if he knows emoticons and other internet stuff, so I didn’t put a smiley up there. 

Shit. Now what? I can’t get it back, can I? Oh, stupid email. If it was a letter I would’ve given it some thought before posting it. 

I’m still fretting about it, when the sound of my notification makes my heart drop to my stomach. Whoa. Is that him again? 

Opening the mail, I read, _'Kitty’s our chaperone.'_

It makes me giggle. Okay, so he’s playing along. I wonder if I should respond again. Would it be too much? Oh, what the hell. Instant messaging might be better though. Everyone’s got an account, but I hope he knows how to use it. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do chatspeak, so plain English it is.

I add his email address to my friends list, and even though he seems to be offline, I type, _'Yours or mine?'_

His reply comes quite fast. _'Mine. You got quite a rep going on.'_

I laugh. _'Haha! Dork! But I’m serious. What are the plans for Kit and me?'_

 _'Calling your teacher names costs you 5 extra laps.'_

Oh! He’s *so* enjoying this! I bet he’s smirking at his screen. 

_'You’re taking advantage of your position. Forget the laps and I won’t tell about your secret beer stash. Where are you, anyway?'_

_'Deal. Control room.'_

Figures. He’s not the kinda guy who’s using a computer for fun. 

_'K. I have to write an essay about chemistry. Any suggestions?'_

It stays quiet for quite a long time, so I type, _'You still there?'_

His reply: _'Gotta go. Later.'_

Damnit. What was that all about? I was just having a good time. 

Suddenly I’m all bouncy and restless, and there’s no way I can concentrate on those creepy free radicals now. 

Maybe… maybe I should go for a walk. I think I forgot something downstairs. My… uh… my pen. Yeah. I think I left it in the lab somewhere. The fact that I have to get past the Control Room is inconsequential and purely by coincidence. 

Right?

Right. 

So… where’s my lipstick?


	6. Chapter 6

“Can’t we use a condom?” Bobby’s panting, almost salivating over my bare breasts while he’s dry humping my leg. 

“I guess,” I groan doubtfully, trying to feel his erection against my knee. Looks like he totally forgot all about our failed kissing experiment. His appetite is certainly back again by the feel of a certain hardness down there. 

A few days ago, he was suddenly very eager to get rid of my top. I don’t know what happened - maybe he discovered porn on the internet or something, but whatever it was, his libido’s back. After some investigational touching here and there, he sure got the hang of it now. He’s almost making me come just by paying attention to my nipples.

Okay, so the fact he’s wearing latex gloves sorta feels like I’m being medically examined, but I’m getting really good at ignoring the minor spoiler. It’s just a part of this whole protection-thing. They’re like finger-condoms. No one can blame us not to practice safe sex. Heh.

“Take off your jeans,” my very exited boyfriend whispers, humping my leg a little faster, but I’m not ready for something like that yet. One step at the time, sugar. Besides, I’m having my period. I’m so not going to tell him that. This stuff is sort of embarrassing enough already.

“No.”

“I’ll be careful. Promise.”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to. Not yet.”

Bobby sighs in disappointment, but he doesn’t push his luck. Gently touching me some more, I have to admit I’m darn close. Should I tell him to stop? I never had an orgasm with someone else around. Christ, this is weird. Is sex always this awkward? I mean, he’s my *boyfriend*, right? I should be able to talk to him about these things, but it just feels so… so… I don’t know. Not right. Or something. Well, it *does* feel right physically, but the rest… whatever. I’m overthinking stuff. Look at me, I’m having sex. Sort of. Let’s get it on. 

Pressing my thighs together, I concentrate on Bobby’s hands only and try to clear my head. 

Bobby’s hands. Bobby’s hands. Nothing else. No one else. Certainly not Logan. Definitely not Logan. Not the way he stormed out of the control room, all furious and growly and… sexy… and… just… so… God… Oh, God, Oh, Goooood! 

Holding my breath, I feel my body climax, and I try to ride it out as long as I can, lying completely still on my boyfriend’s bed. 

Oookay. 

This is… awkwardness maximus. I gently push his hands away, but he doesn’t really seem to notice. I don’t even think he knows I came already. He’s still rubbing himself against my leg, his eyes closed, his mouth twisted in some sort of grimace, like he’s hurting himself. 

Now what? Get up and use his bathroom? I’m not sure the wetness I feel between my legs is from my excitement or my period. That is so gross. I’m *not* gonna share this with Bobby ever. I have no idea what he knows about the female body, but he’s not going to learn biology from me, that’s for sure.

I look down and wonder if maybe I should give him a hand. Literally. Just so I can get away.

“Come here,” I whisper, and I wriggle my fingers between our jeans to let him know what I’m about to do. He shifts a little, and then I can cup his erection. It’s not as big as I thought it would be, but that’s probably because I’ve been reading too much fanfiction on the Internet. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to be traumatized by some sort of average-cock-syndrome though. Pleasantly surprised about my initiative, he turns to his back and lets me rub all over his jeans.

“Oh, yeah,” he moans, and he bucks his hips a bit.

Okay, so I must be doing something right. He grabs the duvet and I rub some more, my mind going back to the Control Room again. I’m still not sure what made Logan storm out so angrily, but I think he had a fight with Scott about something, because Scott followed soon after and I haven’t seen Logan since. 

Suddenly, Bobby throws back his head and goes, “Uuunghh!”

Uh… what? What the hell was that? Did he just come too?

“Bobby? You okay?”

“Yeah,” he squeaks, a bit out of breath. “Um… I think… I just made a mess.”

Oh. Oh, my. This is just too funny. I suddenly burst into uncontrollable giggles, and Bobby just sorta grimaces self-consciously. I makes me laugh even harder, but then he suddenly laughs too, and I’m so glad he’s just as inexperienced as I am. At least we can be dorky together. 

Buttoning up my blouse, I sit up straight and say, “You know what? It’s my birthday soon. Maybe I can convince ‘Ro to spend the night with you. What do you think?”

“Yeah?” His eyes seem to sparkle. “That would be cool.”

Yeah, I bet. I’m a bit nervous about it though. I mean, we’re talking about my virginity here. Okay, his too, but I’m a girl. It’s probably gonna hurt, not to mention I’m still not sure if Bobby’s the right one. I don’t want to sleep with him just because he’s *there*. If I do, I’m committing myself to him. For keeps. 

I guess I’m a bit of an old-fashioned twit about those things. I’m not going to sleep with just about anyone. I need trust. Lots of it. There is no such thing as casual sex for me. There is nothing casual about killer skin, so this is really something serious. 

I’m thinking out loud. “I can’t promise anything, but it might work with a condom and tights or something. And the gloves, of course. Maybe we can think of some things to do with foil too, but we really have to be careful. Are you still sure about it?”

He nods enthusiastically and his smile is priceless. “Yeah.” 

“Okay. I’ll talk to ‘Ro.”

And if there might be a sudden knot in the pit of my stomach that feels awfully similar to doubt, I’m pretty darn good at disregarding it as sudden cramps.

* * *

A few days later I’m outside, sitting on a bench and watching a baseball game played by Kurt, Pete, Jubes, Artie, Scott and Bobby. I didn’t really feel like playing, but I’m having a blast watching them. Powers aren’t allowed, but Kurt is bamfing around now and then, making Jubes spark his tail in punishment. I even spotted a glimpse of a smile on Scott’s face. 

Just when I laugh because Artie is almost climbing Pete’s leg to get the ball, I notice Logan making his way across the lawn to the woods. I didn’t think he was around today. His bike wasn’t in the garage this morning. Maybe he just came in. 

I wave when he looks up, and he jerks his head in an acknowledging gesture, changing his path and coming over. 

“Whatcha doin’?” he asks, stopping next to me and looking over the court.

“Nothing really. Just watching the game.”

“Who's winning?”

I smile. “Both sides suck.”

He sits down next to me, and I take the opportunity to give in to my curiosity. 

“Shouldn't you be on one of your 'secret missions'?”

“Just got back.”

“So… what is it you do exactly?”

“I'm mutant double ‘o’ seven,” he replies dryly.

I nudge his shoulder with mine. “I'm serious.”

Keeping his eyes on the baseball court, he sighs. “I do things other can’t. Or don't want to.”

Okay, this is interesting. He seems relatively conversational today. Maybe I can prod some more. 

“Can't or won't, based on… what?”

"Skills, principles, beliefs.”

“Then why are *you* doing it?”

Now he smirks bitterly. “’Cause I don’t give a damn about any of those.”

“That's a load of bull, Logan. I know that isn’t true.”

Glancing my way, he asks, “Yeah? Why?”

I shrug. “You are the most honorable man I know.”

“You sure don’t know many people, kid.”

We stare at each other for a moment, but then I look away. “So… if you don't have morals and stuff, then why are you still here? With the X-men?”

He casually stretches his legs in front of him. “I'm a sucker for the scenery.”

I’m getting so fed up with those ambiguous responses. 

“I have a suggestion. Try a real answer for once. It won’t kill you to say what’s on your mind, you know.”

Maybe he realizes he can’t fool me, or maybe he’s fed up with his smartass answers himself, because the fake casualness is suddenly gone. He leans forward with his arms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees. 

“You want a real answer? Fine. I just came back from an assignment I can’t talk about. There was nothing honorable about it. Get me off that damn pedestal. I don’t belong there.”

Great. Now he’s upset. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’ve also seen my boyfriend looking our way a few times already, so I suppress the urge to reach out and give him a little backrub. I don’t want to upset Bobby too. Besides, I’ve never really initiated physical contact between us. I don’t even know if he wants me to touch him. 

“It’s what friends do, you know. Putting each other up there,” I tell him pragmatically. “You can only come down if you’re afraid of heights.”

He turns his head to look at me, and I spot a ghost of a smile. “I’m not. As long as I’m not flying. You done nagging?”

Putting my hands on my sides, I huff, “I don’t *nag*, mister. I just like to know things. I also want you to know that, if you ever wanna share your stuff, I’m around to listen.”

“I know.”

“Good,” I nod. “So how about you tell me your plans for Kitty and me during your class?”

“Not a chance.”

I let out a frustrated growl. “Not even a clue?”

“Wear something comfortable, and don’t use perfume or something else with a strong scent. Tell Pryde the same.”

Does he think I stink?

“Uh… why? Is my perfume bothering you?”

He chuckles and stands up again. “Just do what I tell ya.”

Watching him walk away to the forest, I call after him, “You enjoy being secretive, don’t you? You’re nothing but a big meanie!”

Not turning around, he replies almost cheerfully, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Crap. I don’t I like the sound of that.

* * *

Friday afternoon. Lunchtime. I join Pete and Jubes in the cafeteria, putting down my plate. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

Jubes almost chokes in her salad because she’s talking with her mouth full. “There she is, ask her.”

Suspiciously looking from one to the other, I lean in when Pete does, too. In a rather confidential tone, he asks, “Do you think adamantium can penetrate organic metal?”

I blink. “I don’t know. Why?”

Jubes chimes in. “He’s had his first training-session with Logan.”

“Oh, right. How did it go?”

Smiling, he says, “Good. He’s taught me some interesting moves, and we talked about the possibilities of my mutation. After Stryker’s attack, I know bullets can’t harm me when I’m armed up, but I’d been wondering about adamantium.”

I nod. “Testing the limits, huh? What did Logan say?”

“He said he didn’t want to find out.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t exactly stab you for the sake of an experiment.”

“I know,” Pete agrees, shrugging his broad shoulders, “I was just wondering.”

Jubes suddenly seems to have a light bulb moment. “Hey, I got an idea. There is a way to test it!”

She’s got both our attention. “How?”

Cleaning her hands with a paper napkin, she all smiles and twinkle-eyes. She points to me and explains, “You touch Pete. Then you go all Tank-girl and let your brooding Samurai stab you in some harmless area. If the adamantium turns out to be stronger, you can touch Logan to get his healing, et voilá! You’re all whole again.” 

She smugly watches us but I’m speechless. So is Pete apparently. He opens his mouth and closes it just the same. When he tries again, he asks in utter astonishment, “Are you out of your mind?”

“What? It’s a way to find out. Rogue already survived the triple piercing once, right?”

“He almost *killed* me,” I hiss, but she just rolls her eyes. 

“Okay. Fine. I was just making a suggestion. Jesus. Hold up your socks, guys.”

Shaking his head, Pete sighs. “Sometimes I really doubt your mental abilities, Jubilee.”

I chuckle. “Amen.”

* * *

Friday night. This time we’re having a decent movie. I’m all packed with snacks and drinks, and I even brought my blanket. Bobby and Scott decided to make Friday night their hobby-night, because Scott doesn’t like traditions anymore. It means I can’t snuggle up with Bobby anymore, but maybe it’s best not hang out together all the time. Just because we’re all living in one house doesn’t mean we can’t have our own lives. Besides, Bobby can’t sit still for long anyway. He hardly makes it through an entire movie, so in a way I’m glad I don’t have to share my seat tonight. It always makes me worry about him not liking the movie, and then I can’t enjoy it either. 

The light dims, and I glance over to Pete and Kitty. They’re taking their relationship to a new level it seems. She’s practically on his lap, giggling quietly. Jubes is alone as well, looking bored and restless. Sometimes it’s just so painfully obvious John isn’t here anymore. 

I sigh and feel rather melancholic. 

Bobby and Pete will graduate this year. Kitty, Jubes and I still have one year to go. Kitty is a year younger than the rest of us, but Jubes and I have been on the streets for too long. 

It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I’m not in a hurry. I don’t want to go to college, like Bobby and Pete. Kitty is dying to go, and Jubes doesn’t know anything yet. I wonder what will happen if Pete and Bobby are going to move out and live in a dorm. Are Bobby and I going to make it? There will be lots of available girls over there. All touchable. 

Ugh. I really should stop these thoughts. Let’s just concentrate on the movie. 

The door opens and closes again, and when I look around, I see ‘Ro tiptoeing her way through the rec room. 

“Did I miss anything?” she whispers, and I shake my head. 

“Nope. Long intro.”

“Oh, good.”

Jubes suddenly perks up. “’Ro, saved you a spot.”

I smile. With John gone, I guess Jubes has to settle for some platonic cuddling with ‘Ro. Oh well. Good for her. 

The next hour it’s quiet except for the noises coming out of the home cinema surround system. Still, I can’t seem to focus. My birthday’s coming up, and I still didn’t ask ‘Ro if I can spend the night with Bobby. To be honest, I’m still not sure if I want to. 

When someone suddenly sits down on the arm rest next to me, I look up and find Logan nonchalantly draping his arm over the back of the seat. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey,” I whisper, scooting a little closer to his side. “Something wrong?”

“Nope. Where’s the boyfriend?”

His voice is deep. I can almost feel it resonating inside my stomach. 

“With Scott. He prefers playing with cars over watching movies.”

He shows me one of those guarded smiles he saves for occasions when we’re having an audience and looks at the empty spot next to me. “You sure he isn’t gay?”

I giggle and roll my eyes. “Definitely not. You’re welcome to take his seat though.” 

And I regret it right away. 

I didn’t mean to bring him in an awkward position where he has to refuse. I’m sure he’s got better things to do than to be crammed into a love seat with an untouchable teen.

“Rain check,” he easily avoids my invitation. “Chuck needs me to do something. I just dropped by to tell you I’ll be gone for a whole week.”

I seek his eyes in the dark. “Something dangerous?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and I feel his hand on top of my head in something that feels like a small caress. It resurrects something fluttery in my stomach. 

“You’re gonna miss my birthday,” I whisper, knowing it’s rather selfish to be disappointed while he might be doing something heroic and helpful for mutant society. “It’s this Wednesday.”

“Shit. Didn’t know.”

I force a smile on my face and put a gloved hand on his thigh. “I didn’t tell anyone. Just come back in one piece, okay?”

“Gonna make it up to you. Promise.”

“It’s okay. Be careful?”

Ruffling my hair, he stand ups. “You know me.”

I watch him leave and sigh. 

Unfortunately, Yes. That’s why I’m worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Logan reveals he’s been doing things the other X-Men can’t or won’t do, based on their skills, principles, or beliefs. You also know he got into a fight with Scott in the Control Room, but since this story is from Marie’s POV, and Logan’s kind of tightlipped about certain stuff, you’ll never really get to know what’s going on in detail. 
> 
> Because a lot of people have asked me this question over the years, I’ve decided to reveal something about Logan's life here. The first mission he talks about in this chapter really isn’t a pretty one. When I wrote the scene, I had the heartbreaking story from Ultimate X-Men #41 in mind. You can read it here at [uncannyxmen.net](http://www.uncannyxmen.net/db/issues/showquestion.asp?fldAuto=1596). In short: A teenage boy hits puberty and awakes with the uncontrollable mutation that kills everyone in a certain radius around him. Charles wants to keep this quiet (wouldn't look good on mutants and the already fragile peace), so he tells Logan to find the boy and kill him. Logan offers the boy a beer first, talks to him for a bit, and the boy understands what needs to be done. Logan carries out his order, making sure it's a fast and painless death. 
> 
> So, while Marie is dealing with puberty, Logan’s dealing with so much more. Xavier’s methods aren’t always clean, even though he’s doing what’s best for mutant kind in general. These missions stay under the radar, obviously, but Scott has found out about some of them. Instead of getting angry at Xavier, he takes it out on Logan. That was what the fight was about.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay. I’m about to do something extremely embarrassing. Talking to ‘Ro about spending the night with Bobby on my birthday. I hope she’ll understand I want my first time to be special. Bobby and I can have sex pretty much everywhere, but I don’t want to sneak around so honesty it is. 

Too bad Logan’s on a mission. I’m pretty sure he could’ve provided me with all the condoms I’ll ever need. I’m not sure if he’d be okay about discussing sex related topics with me, but it doesn’t really matter now. He’s still gone, and I’m standing before ‘Ro’s room in the attic. Here goes nothing. 

Taking a deep breath, I knock on her door. Almost immediately I hear her melodious voice call out the door’s open. 

“Hey,” I say a little timidly. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

She peeks from around the corner of her private kitchen, greeting me with a surprised smile. “Rogue! No, honey. Come on in. Tea?”

Reluctantly closing the door behind me, I shake my head. “No, thanks. I just have a question.”

“Hang on.” She gets herself a glass of some greenish stuff, and it smells rather swampy. “Saw you’re making quite some flight-hours.”

“You’re keeping track?”

“It’s connected to your login name and password. You’re doing really well.”

I feel a little blush creeping over my face. “Thanks. I uh… I’m not going to do the loopings and stuff for real, you know.”

Smiling, she sits down on her fluffy couch and gestures me to do the same. “You let a certain someone in your head take over?”

Crap. I don’t like to be caught giving my inner-Logan some quality time, and I also feel like defending him again.

“He doesn’t ask for it. It’s my own choice.”

“It’s your call, honey. If his knowledge helps you develop your skills, why not?”

“Yeah,” I agree, thankful she understands the way it works. “He never takes over entirely. He simply shows me what to do and explains stuff, but without any words. It’s just something I instantly know. It’s nice to learn from the inside out, even though it seems a little odd to others.”

She curiously tilts her head a little, puling up her legs in a gracious move. “Does the real Logan know his presence is so strong up there?”

I look away. “I don’t think so. He’s usually sorta closed off about personal stuff, so we never really talk about it.”

“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll find out some things that might scare or disappoint you,” she suggests, calmly awaiting my reaction. 

“I’d never be afraid of him,” I say with a fierceness I didn’t mean to display that obviously. “And he can’t disappoint me because I don’t expect anything.”

She suddenly smiles like she’s just discovered a secret. Is she patronizing me?

Meeting her eyes, I ask, “What?”

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Wait a minute. How did we end up talking about my feelings for Logan? I wanted to ask if I could spend the night with Bobby. 

“Yeah, of course,” I tell her a little impatiently. “We’re friends. But that’s not the point right now. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ah, yes. Go ahead.”

Clearing my throat, I already feel the nervous flutter in my stomach. “Bobby and I are together for a little over five months now. I’m almost eighteen. So I was wondering… would it be okay if I spend the night in his room? On my birthday?”

There. Glad I got that out. 

‘Ro sighs and carefully puts down her glass. She pensively watches me, and I try not to squirm, but God, do I feel awkward. 

Finally, after what looks like hours, she says quietly, “We’re not your surrogate parents, Rogue. You’re legal when you turn eighteen, and therefore you are responsible for your own decisions. We can only guide you if you let us, but we can’t forbid you to take such an important step in your relationship.”

I blink confusingly. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yes, that, indeed, is a ‘yes’. But can I ask you something? It might be inappropriate.”

A part of me is telling me to get the hell out of here, because she might ask something that forces me to dig up feelings I’ve been ignoring for a while now. Unfortunately, a more morbid part of me wants to stay. Sorta like a criminal who wants to get caught but doesn’t have to guts to turn himself in. 

Bracing myself, I ask, “Can I get a cup of tea first?”

I know I’m being a coward, but I need something to hide behind. Even if it’s a transparent glass of green, swampy-smelling tea.

“Sure,” ‘Ro soothes my sudden hyper-active nerves. “Sugar?”

“No, thanks.”

While she busies herself in the little kitchenette, I shiver in anticipation of her question. Please, don’t let her ask anything I’m not ready to face. My life is a little too complicated right now. 

“Here you go.” Taking her place across from me, she puts my glass on the wooden table and nurses her own between her hands again. Then, she asks, “Are you in love with Bobby?”

“Yeah.”

It’s true. I *am* in love with him. I’m just not sure if I love him beyond that. 

She sees my doubt. “Yes, but?”

Reaching for my hot drink, I shrug one shoulder. “But… I don’t know if he’s The One.”

She doesn’t answer, and it looks like she’s lost in thoughts. 

In all earnest I ask, “How do you know? How do you know you love someone for real?”

“I don’t know. I think you’ll be able to feel it. When you stay close to your intuition, you’ll know.”

“Ugh. That’s what Logan says, too,” I mutter between sips and feeling kind of disappointed.

For some reason she’s amused by my reaction. 

“Really? You talk with him about these kind of things?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, but he’s always telling me to listen to my gut, so….” I make a face. “I don’t think my gut and I have an understanding though. It’s only giving me cramps.”

She laughs. “Maybe it’s trying to get your attention.”

“Whatever,” I mutter. “It’s something I can do without.”

“Stay close to yourself, Rogue. You’ll find out life will be easier once you listen to your ‘gut’, as Logan puts it.”

I roll my eyes and drink the rest of my tea. Is there a hidden message? Do I need to read between the lines, or is she just giving me some random advice? 

She seems to understand I’m not really getting it yet, because she asks, “What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want to get hurt,” I say, because that’s such a no-brainer. “And I don’t want to hurt others either.”

“Yes, it might look scary to surrender to your true feelings, and you might hurt some people in the process, but in the end it’ll bring you the answers you’re longing for. *You* know what’s best for you.”

Suddenly I feel quite uncomfortable because this is all a bit too close to home. “Yeah, okay. Gotta go now. Thanks. For the advice and all.” 

I put the empty glass back on the table and get the hell out of there.

Ugh, I just wanted a plain ‘yes’ or ‘no’, not some fortune-telling-stuff. ‘Ro really is a weirdo sometimes. 

Must be the swampy-smelling tea.

* * *

“Really? You’re gonna spend the night with Bobby?” Kitty’s eyes are huge, staring at me in disbelief. “What did ‘Ro say?”

“To stay close to my feelings,” I mutter, still rather wound up about it. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“Are you sure? About you and Bobby, I mean?”

Flopping down on my bed, I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I like Bobby. We’re having fun. He’s handsome. I’m comfortable around him. Isn’t that enough?” 

Kitty seems to consider it. “What about love?”

“What about it? Of course I’m in love with him.”

“Well,” she says doubtfully, “if you both feel good about it, I’d say go ahead.”

Staring at Orlando on the wall, I nod. “We do.”

“Well, okay then.”

“Yeah. Okay then.”

The following silence seems to mock me, though. I suddenly hate being here. I hate having to share my private life with these girls. I want my own room, damnit. Maybe I can ask to move to Logan’s old one. He’s in the teacher’s wing now. I can use my skin as an excuse. I’ll just tell them I’m tired of being careful and covered up in my own space. It’s not even a lie. I *am* tired of it. In fact, I’m fed up with just about everything. 

And that includes my friggin’ gut.

* * *

What the fuck? What’s that noise?

Jubes grunts, “Five more minutes,” and she hides her head under her pillow. 

It’s my cell. Jesus, what time is it? Midnight? 

Suddenly awake, I pick up and whisper, “Hello?”

“Happy birthday.”

Logan. My heart instantly does all kinds of impressive acrobatics.

“Hang on.” I hastily sneak into the bathroom to let the others enjoy their sleep. Closing the door behind me, I turn on the light and blink against the sudden brightness. “Sorry, didn’t want to wake the others, but thanks! Where are you?”

“Can’t tell. Unsecured line.”

“Oh, okay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s a routine gig. I’ll be back soon.”

I sit down on the edge of the bath. “Good. I was worried.”

“You can call me.”

It makes me smile. “I know, but I don’t want to bug you.”

“If I don’t want to be bugged my cell’s switched off.”

Logan-logic. Sometimes I wish my life was just as black and white as his. 

“Well, alright. I’ll just bug you whenever I feel like it.”

“Good. What about me? Am I bugging you now?”

“No, of course not. I was asleep, but I’m really glad you called.” And suddenly I really miss him. Really bad. I want to talk to him about all my doubts about Bobby, but not through the phone.

“Sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I thought you’d be celebrating.”

“Nah. I don’t want to make a fuss about it, but hey, I *am* an adult now. I can vote and everything.”

A low chuckle. “Yeah, finally. When are you gonna dump the snowflake?”

I think I’m about to have a heart attack even though he’s just teasing. “You wish, sugar,” I giggle, covering my wild pounding heart with my hand, because I’m seriously gonna die if he hears it through the phone. 

“Well, couldn’t hurt trying. I won’t end up in jail now.”

I giggle again. “I’ll put you on my list of willing men if things with Bobby don’t work out. How’s that?”

“How many before me?”

“You’re the first,” I tell him, repressing more nervous giggles even though I know it’s just a silly game. 

“No way. No other claims yet?”

“I happen to be untouchable, remember?”

“Pff. They lack creativity. Put my name up there. It's Logan. L – O – G – A – N.”

Now I really can’t bite back another giggle. “I know how to spell, stupid.”

“Hey, I just want to make it official.”

I’m totally giddy now. No way I can get back to sleep. Still, maybe it’s time to say goodbye. This conversation is making my insides twist and turn. Like I said already, stupid gut.

“Careful what you wish for. It might come true.”

Suddenly he’s serious again. “Hope not. Means I have to kill Drake for hurting you.”

Poof! Gone is all the giddiness. 

“Aw, he won’t. He’s actually really sweet, but hey, thanks for calling. That’s really sweet of you too.”

“No problem. Have fun, okay?”

“I will. ‘Night.”

“Bye, kid.”

I put down the phone and feel like I just got out of a rollercoaster. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and I’m slightly nauseous. When I flip out the light and creep back to bed, I’m suddenly aware of how far I’ve lost myself. 

Because I love him. 

I love him so much it hurts.

* * *

_'Hey all! It’s my 18th birthday today. Any prezzies out there? :)'_

I’m writing in my online journal, but I’m not feeling as joyful as I expected to be. Staring at the sentence, I decide to drag my cursor over it and delete it again. I glance over my shoulder to see if the door’s closed and then I write: 

_'I’m in love. Completely head over heels in love, but it’s not Bobby. It’s Logan. I don’t want to, but it’s there anyway. I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to shake it off, but I’ve decided to sleep with Bobby tonight. And I think I’m in love with Bobby as well. Only different. With Logan, it seems like he’s a part of me. It’s a feeling so deep, I don’t know where it starts exactly. It looks like he’s wrapped around my core and fused with me, but I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want any of it.'_

I stop typing and read the paragraph, my heart nervously fluttering in my chest. It’s there. In words. So that means it’s real. 

_'Logan doesn’t love me back. Not like I love him. And even if he did, the others would never let us to be together like that. Besides, the thought scares me. He’s so intense. I don’t think I can refuse him anything. I never thought I’d be scared of him, but I am. A little bit. I know he’ll never hurt me, but with him I know I have to surrender. With Bobby I’m the one in control. I need to be. I can’t let myself depend on others anymore. It’s too risky.'_

Again I stop to read. Such harmless, little words, and yet, this is me. Really all of me. Right from the heart. And God, these sentences scare me to death. 

_'This is all so fucked up. I don’t want to break up with my boyfriend. I just wish my damn gut would stop hinting that I should. I’ll only end up alone if I do. Nobody wants an untouchable girlfriend. I’m lucky with Bobby. He’s handsome, smart, funny and intelligent. He’s very stable. I need someone steady right now. Bobby will never leave me as long as I don’t chase him away. After all, rejected by both our families, we’re all we have left.'_


	8. Chapter 8

I’m such a bitch. 

Last night I spent the night with Bobby, but I couldn’t sleep with him. I kept thinking about the damn entry in my journal and how wrong it would be if I’d go all the way with those words still there. Bobby wasn’t a happy camper obviously. He really thought he’d be getting it on. Especially after the present he gave me – a silver ring. It’s got our names engraved, and the date when we first met. 

It almost made me cry. I wanted to tell him I didn’t deserve him as a boyfriend, but he looked so happy. Those beautiful blue eyes were filled with expectations. I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to turn it down, so now I’m wearing it. 

God, I’m so confused.

I know I’m in love with Bobby. I *know* it. He’s everything a girl could possibly want. I’m so lucky he picked *me*. I can’t doubt him anymore. It’s obvious he’s serious about our relationship, so I want to show him I’m serious as well. 

I just deleted the latest post in my journal. 

It’s gone. Banished to oblivion. If only my feelings for Logan could be wiped away just as easily. I’m determined to get rid of them though. I’m just going to ignore every goddamn flutter and shiver from now on, no matter what. I will *not* flirt back anymore. I will not get weak in the knees just because he’s smiling at me. I will not be all starry-eyed just because he’s touching me. I’ll just be his friend. Nice and platonic. Just like he wants it. Just like *I* want it.

Also, I think I’m going to murder Jubes. Everyone’s been glancing and giggling at me today. I bet she’s the one who shouted from the rooftops I’ve slept in Bobby’s room. It wasn’t a secret or anything. I mean, let’s face it, keeping something a secret in this house is nearly impossible. You can’t even cut a stinker without the entire place knowing it, but I really didn’t need this kinda of exposure either. It’s embarrassing. 

“Rogue, you there?”

‘Ro? What does she want?

“Yeah, come in.”

The weather Goddess walks into my room, dressed in her uniform, her cape flowing elegantly behind her. One of the benefits of her mutation, of course. She makes it look good with a gentle, warm breeze around her. 

“Are you busy?”

“No,” I tell her, closing my laptop. “I was just finishing up. Why?”

“Feel like flying?”

I stare at her, not quite sure what she means. “In the Jet? For real?”

She smiles. “Yes. I think you are ready. I’m going to pick Logan up. Thought you might like that mission.”

“Yeah!” I call out, jumping up and raising my fist in the air. “I’m an X-Man for real!”

Laughing, she gestures me to come along. “Let’s get you into a uniform.”

A uniform! Last time I didn’t really got to enjoy it, but now I will. Okay, so I look a bit like some dominatrix with those fuck-me boots, but damn, they were sexy. I wonder what Logan will say when he sees me. 

Not that I care, of course. Let’s be professional about it. 

Still. 

Woohoo!

* * *

I love to fly. The sky is beautiful and serene above the clouds. It’s heaven. No pun intended. 

Ororo is sitting next to me, checking the coordinates while I’m controlling the Jet. I wonder if she misses Jean right now. Seeing me in her best friend’s place must be difficult, but I don’t really know what to say to her to make it better. Everything I come up with sounds awfully corny, so I just concentrate on the flight instead. It’s a bit different from the simulator, but not much. I have to make a lot of flight hours before I’m a pilot for real, but I know I’m gonna make it. This is what I want to be. 

Glancing over to the coordinates, I see we’re almost at the extraction point. That means ‘Ro - I mean *Storm*, is going to take over soon. 

“Can you tell me something about the mission?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too nosy, but she smiles apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, hon. No details. I also want you to forget everything you hear when Logan’s in. This is all highly confidential. You understand?”

I nod. “Okay. Not a word.”

Now I get a real smile, and she takes over the control while I lean back and feel the tension in my shoulders. Guess I was a bit more nervous about this whole flying-for-real-stuff after all. I’m gonna take a nice, hot bath when we’re back. 

‘Ro easily lands the Jet and lowers the ramp. Then I have to catch my breath, because Logan’s climbing up, looking so Rambo-ish I seriously have to hold back a girly whimper.

The moment he spots me sitting in the pilot seat, his quick pace wavers just a little. “What’s she doing here?” he barks to ‘Ro. “Does she know?”

Yeah, nice to see you too, sugar. 

‘Ro smiles calmly, clearly not impressed by his gruff greeting. I’m pissed though. Biting back a snappy comment, I try to look professional and refuse to pout. I’m sure he’s tired from whatever he has been doing, and I’m an X-Man. I’m at work. Logan and I aren’t friends right now. He’s my mentor and my teammate. We’ll talk later, I’m sure. 

Waiting for him to sit down and buckle up, I hear ‘Ro telling him I don’t know anything about the mission, but that I need some real flight experience. She gets a “hpmf” for an answer, and it sparks a determination to show him how well I can fly this thing already. I enter the coordinates to get us back to the Mansion again, and ‘Ro smiles approvingly. 

While we’re taking off, she asks Logan, “Did you find out anything useful?” 

I can feel his stare on me, and so I try to hold my most professional expression and wait until I get control of the Jet again. 

“Trip-wired claymores, a couple of machine guns on the roof – one at every corner. Approximately twenty-four men, twelve in, twelve out. Four shifts. Cargo and provisions twice a week, fully secured with four extra’s. They all carry the basic U.S. stuff.”

‘Ro turns her chair around and I feel proud because that means she totally trusts me to fly us home. I hope Logan realizes that too. 

“Hmm,” she ponders. “Army? Or Stryker’s men?”

I hear Logan scruff his hand over his face. “Assholes.”

She chuckles gracefully. “That’s for sure. What do you think our chances are?”

It’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if he hesitates because I’m here, or because he really has to think about it. 

“I can do it alone.”

“No,” Ororo protests. “You know what Charles said. They might have useful information about other facilities. You can’t just blow them up. What if there are hostages?”

“It’s clear.”

“How do you know? Did you go in?”

When she doesn’t get an answer, the weather Goddess suddenly explodes. “Damnit, Wolverine! You endangered the mission. You *know* you weren’t suppose to come close. What if they’d discovered you?”

Logan can’t keep his anger in check either. “Then they’d be sorry!” 

“We’re a team,” Ororo hisses, clearly all worked up. 

“No, *Storm*. I’m on *your* side, but still on *my* conditions.”

Obviously frustrated by Logan’s adamant behavior, she unbuckles and stands up. I don’t look over my shoulder, but I can hear her walk to other side. Logan does the same, but even though they’re in the back, I can still hear them. 

‘Ro sounds seriously upset. “What if there were prisoners? You know you can’t get them out on your own.”

“You don’t know what it’s like in there. If there were others, they would’ve welcomed an escape. Any escape.”

“Not death.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter and scorning. “You think a bandage and a good talk will be enough? Think again.”

“Just because someone has gone through an emotional trauma doesn’t mean they can’t live a normal life. That goes for you too. If you’d just let us help you--”

“This is *not* about me.”

“Yes, it is. You’re out for revenge, but *we* are trying to save lives here.”

“Fuck that. You can fix a broken body, but you can’t–-”

He stops, but I know what he was about to say. He wanted to tell her you can’t fix a broken soul. Probably not in those words, but I can feel his frustration from the other side of the plane. The air is buzzing with restraint rage. I’m forcing myself to concentrate on the control panel and fly us home. This is not my business. I’m just their pilot. 

Ororo knows when to stop pushing buttons, thankfully. Logan is way too edgy to reason with now, and she isn’t suicidal. With a controlled, calm voice, she picks up their conversation from where they left off before it went out of hand. 

“Okay. Let’s focus on this mission again. Who should be lined up?”

“If you want it your way, you need everyone. One team for cover, the other for intel and explosives.”

Clearing my throat, I remind myself to use our codenames. It sounds kinda stupid but those are the rules.

“Um, Storm? Sorry for the interruption, but we’re almost there.”

She turns back to the control panel again. “It’s okay. You’re doing really good.”

Not able to keep my straight face any longer, I smile proudly. I’m only an X-trainee, after all. I can still act happy when I feel like it. 

Both my mentors buckle up again, and ‘Ro sets in for our landing. I glance over to Logan to see how he’s holding up. Scowling out of the window, he looks tired and more than just a little aggravated. I wish I could reach out to him, but he doesn’t acknowledge my presence so I just leave him be. Maybe I can check up on him later. Everyone needs someone to lean on after all. Even self-proclaimed loners.

* * *

It’s almost three a.m. and I’m sneaking through the hallway to Bobby’s room. Jubes’ soft, blissful snoring was getting on my nerves, but it’s not her fault really. I couldn’t get the conversation between Logan and ‘Ro out of my head. I really want someone to talk to. Even though I took that long, hot bath I’d promised myself, the tension in my shoulders never really left. I’m worried. About Logan. About the mission. About all of us. Maybe Bobby’s presence will comfort me a little. 

Opening his door, I see my boyfriend tangled in his sheets. When I slept in his room, we pushed John’s bed next to his so we both had our own, reducing the chance of accidentally touching each other in our sleep to a minimum. 

“Bobby?”

He doesn’t move. 

Okay, let’s sit on the other bed and try again. 

“Bobby, wake up.”

He stirs and grumbles something before smacking his lips and turning around. It makes me giggle. 

“Bobby, come on. Wake up.”

Suddenly sitting up straight, looks quite bewildered. “What? Where? Stryker?”

His hair is all messed up and his shirt is crumpled. I can’t help but giggle again. He looks so cute. 

“No, silly. I just wanted to sleep here tonight. That okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Nightmare?”

Crawling under the sheets in the bed next to him, I say, “Nah. Just couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

“Lots of things. Do you think we’re ready to be X-Men? For real?”

He steps out of bed and pulls up his too big boxers before making his way to the bathroom. I really have to convince him to wear tight boxers from now on. Those things look ridiculous. 

Not aware of my make-over plans, Bobby shrugs. “I don’t know. Back in a sec.”

While I’m trying to ignore the sounds coming from the bathroom – men really make a lot of noise when they pee – I steal a blanket from my boyfriend’s bed. He can get another from his closet if he wants to. 

“Okay,” he jumps back into bed and faces me. “Are we ready to be X-Men? No, I don’t think so. We’re not trained to fight yet.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, but what if they need us some day?”

He shrugs. “Then we’ll go.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. Scott wouldn’t let us get hurt.”

“I don’t know. It scares me, you know. I never thought I’d fly a Jet and be a soldier. I always wanted to be a hairdresser when I was a kid.”

Bobby chuckles. “Well, it’s an interesting career move.”

Giggling, I scoot a little closer. “What about you? Did you wanted to be a super hero?”

“Of course. All boys do,” he jokes. “But my dad is an accountant. I always figured I’d end up the same.”

And that brings us to a delicate subject. 

“Do you miss them?” I ask carefully, hoping he’ll talk now. 

Surprisingly enough he doesn’t avoid my question. 

“Yeah. Sometimes. There are moments I want to call them to find out where we stand, but so far I’ve chickened out every time I have picked up the phone.”

Sighing, I caress his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I never should’ve let Logan take us to my place. I know Ronny hates people like us, and mom and dad never seemed to be pro-mutant either, so that’s why I’d never told them.”

“It’s their loss,” I offer lamely, because… is it?

“Not from where I’m standing,” my boyfriend admits quietly, and I know, because both our families are still living their nice and quiet lives while we’re tossed aside like garbage. 

Not able to come up with something to comfort him, I kiss the top of his head. “Well, we still have each other, and *I* love you.”

It’s the first time I say the L-work to him, and it scares me a lot to do so, but he looks up and smiles sadly. “I know.”

Ooookay. So? Isn’t there something he should say back to me?

He doesn’t seem to be aware of my expectations, because he yawns and makes himself a bit more comfortable. “Maybe we should get back to sleep. I have combat first thing in the morning.”

I’m trying to hide my disappointment. “Sounds good. I don’t want my boyfriend to get punched to pulp.”

He snorts. “I’ll freeze his ass before he gets close enough.”

“You don’t freeze anything until he tells you to, sweetie. You don’t want Logan pissed off right now. Trust me on this. He’s kinda worked up already.”

Turning around, he mumbles, “You’re right. I’ve seen what he can do. I don’t want him pissed at me *ever*.”

“I hear ya. ‘Night, handsome.”

“’Night, pretty.”

He’s back to sleep within minutes, but the rest of the night I’m trying very hard to find a good excuse why my boyfriend didn’t return the L-word.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hey, guys. How’s it going?” I ask, walking into the garage. 

Both Scott and Bobby look up from the book they were studying. 

“Hello, Rogue,” Scott greets me, smiling, and it’s good to see him smile again. He’s darn good-looking when he does. 

Bobby smiles too. “Hey, guess what I can do?”

I’m a little surprised to see him so cheerful after his first work-out with Logan. I thought he’d be moaning about our teacher’s asshole-factor. “What?”

“Look.” He stretches his arm, and after a while, it slowly totally changes into ice. Organic ice. Wow! 

“Damn!” I say, taking a few steps closer. “What--how--”

Scott grins. “He found out today.”

“Damn,” I say again, eyeing his sculptured arm. “Can you do that to your whole body?”

Nodding, Bobby can’t stop smiling. “Probably, yeah. Hank says it’s possible, but before I try I have to get better control first.”

“Hank?” I ask surprised. “I thought you had a work-out with Logan?”

My boyfriend’s arm slowly changes back to flesh and blood again. “I was. Remember I froze his hand when he came back that one day? He asked me to do it again to a branch, but he didn’t want me to stop when the branch had turned into ice. So I kept going, and then this happened. We went to see Hank to made sure everything’s okay physically, and he said I was good to go. Cool huh?”

“Yeah,” I agree, still staring at his now normal arm. “But what’s the use?”

“Logan and Hank think I might be able to reconstitute if I can ice myself entirely. Which comes in handy when I’m shot to pieces.”

“Shot to pieces?” I look at him, but he seems rather indifferent about the idea. I don’t think he realizes the seriousness of this all, so I quickly move on to something else. “So, does it hurt? Do you feel anything when you’re like that?”

“All my nerves are in tact. It doesn’t hurt at all. I can maybe even touch you when I’m all iced up.”

Scott holds up his hands. “But let’s not try that for a while, okay? Not without Hank around.”

Grinning, Bobby agrees. “Yeah, of course.”

Wow. I might have a touchable, iced-up boyfriend. Visions of me licking his icy face are popping up, and I can’t hold back a giggle. 

Scott’s watching me. “What?”

Bursting into more giggles, I feel my cheeks redden. “Nothing. Just… nothing.” I try to get myself together and squeeze Bobby’s hand. “Have fun, okay? I’m almost late for the movie.” I flee out of the garage before I start to laugh out loud.

Oh my, this is going to be fun. I’m dating a human Popsicle. My momma would have a heart attack if she knew all the plans forming in my head. I wonder if certain parts of my boyfriend would melt if I’d suck too long. Guess we’re gonna find out soon. Heh.

Quietly sniggering, I slip into the already dark Rec Room, and just when I’m about to jump into the usual seat, I find Logan there, taking up all the space. 

“Jesus! I almost sat on you,” I whisper accusingly.

He simply smirks. “You’re welcome.”

“Smartass. What are you doing here? This is my spot.”

“I know.”

“Oh.” I stare at him. “So?”

“What happened to your offer to share?”

Staring at him in disbelief, I can’t quite comprehend his words. “You serious?”

“Come on,” he scoots aside and taps the tiny spot left next to him, an amused smile curling his lips in a way that makes him too damn charming. “I won’t bite.”

Eyeing him skeptically I try to figure out what to do. Should I take his invitation? Is it okay to share a love seat with Logan? What if Bobby changes his mind and decides to come over? He’s gonna make a fuss, I’m sure. 

“Well?” the man in question interrupts my indecisiveness with an impatiently raised eyebrow. He’s clearly not used to women weighing their options when it comes to being close to him. 

“Fine,” I agree, torn between reluctance and enthusiasm, and I squeeze myself between the armrest and Mr. Warm and Solid. “But if I’m getting into trouble with Bobby again I’m gonna blame you.”

He snorts. “I’m intimidated.”

“Seriously,” I try to maintain my stern face while my heart seems to trip over itself from excitement. “Now shut up. We’re making too much noise.”

“No one gives a shit. It’s only Pete and Kitty, and they’re not watching the movie.”

“Really?” I look around and see the seat of Jubilee and ‘Ro empty. Kitty and Pete clearly have other things on their mind. She’s all over him, and he’s kissing her so passionately, I quickly look away. “Where are the others?”

Logan shrugs. “Out. I told ‘Ro I’d keep on eye on you guys. She took off with Jubilee.”

“What’s with the supervising-stuff? It’s totally outdated, you know. We can make out pretty much anywhere.”

“Maybe Chuck doesn’t want his good stuff stained,” he answers indifferently, and I giggle. 

“Subtle, as always.” 

“I bet he’s getting off on other people’s fantasy.” He grins wolfishly, and I’m pathetic because I just can’t stop laughing even though the thought is sorta creepy and gross.

“Damnit, cut it out. I don’t want to think about the Professor like that.”

“You’re right. Screw Chuck.” He reaches behind his back and hands me a flat, square package, wrapped in gift paper. “Got you something.”

For a moment my heart nearly stops. “A birthday present?”

He tries to keep his scowl but fails. “Don’t go mushy on me.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course not. We don’t want to ruin your badass rep, now do we?”

“You gonna check what’s inside or what?” There goes the eyebrow of impatience again, so I start ripping the paper and hope it’s something I can be happy with. I don’t want to disappoint him by not liking his gift. He’s able to smell it on me. 

The moment the paper is gone, I stiffen. 

It’s sheet music. Oh, my God, he gave me Beethoven’s piano sonatas. 

“Luigi,” I whisper, staring at the cover and feeling overwhelmed by loneliness, grief, and gratitude. Mr. Tomasini would say ‘it’s Ludwig, Marie, not Luigi’, but now I suddenly even miss my silly old piano teacher.

Logan’s face changes from an impatient playfulness to genuine concern. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Thank you,” I stammer, flinging myself at him and holding him tight. “Thank you so much.”

“Whoa.” He doesn’t quite know what to do with me on his lap all of a sudden, but I don’t care. He remembered my favourite composer. He remembered everything I’ve told him, and he just brought back a piece of me I didn’t even know I missed *that* much. I can’t stop the tears even if I wanted to.

Hesitantly, his arms close around me, and he gently rubs my back. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s alright. I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it?” I whimper between chocked up snivels, “I *love* it. I love *you*.” I turn my head and give him a fast smooch on his cheek, and if he felt uncomfortable before, it’s nothing by the way he’s feeling now. I can tell by the way he instantly lets go of me and looks away. 

“Yeah, yeah. I told you not to go mushy on me. Save it for Drake.”

Blatantly snuggling up against him, I wipe away my tears with my gloves. “He’s getting his fair share, don’t worry. By the way, did he give you a hard time today?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Hey, kid? I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Funny how he’s all serious and guarded now. He suggested me sitting on his lap just a few minutes ago. I bet he thought I’d never take him up on his offer, but I’m so happy and emotional, I really don’t want to hide feelings right now. I want to relish in his warmth and his scent. For just once.

“Shush. You said yourself no one cares. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. Let me sit here for a while and loosen up, okay? I won’t bite.”

He chuckles because I threw his own words right back at him, but to make things a little less cozy, I shift a little and end up sitting between his thigh and the armrest, my legs pulled up but still over his. I lean my head against his shoulder, and he doesn’t protest anymore. He doesn’t wrap his arms around me either. His hands are on the armrests, and I wonder why he’s so cautious all of a sudden. 

Are there school regulations about not being allowed to cuddle up with students of the opposite gender? Whatever the case, it’s better this way anyway. I don’t want Bobby to find us here wrapped up in one another. With his hands nowhere near my body, it looks the way it’s supposed to be: safely platonic. 

I take a deep breath and try to relax, hugging the sheet music to my chest. He’s really warm, and the flannel of his shirt feels nice against my cheek even though his shoulder is too hard to be a good pillow. I really don’t have a clue what movie’s on. All I can think about is him. So close, so safe. I can sit here and bask in his warmth and scent forever. 

How different this is from his behavior in the Jet. He’s so confusing all the time. Pulling me in and pushing me away… I don’t get it. I really don’t.

I want to make it clear it wasn’t my idea to pick him up, so I say, “You know, about yesterday, ‘Ro asked me to fly the Jet. I didn’t mean to make things complicated.”

“It’s okay.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I was such an ass. I just… I don’t want you to know these things.”

“I know. And I don’t think I’m ready to be an X-Man yet. I don’t know anything about missions and fighting and strategy and stuff. When I heard you guys talk, it was all way over my head. I don’t think I can’t deal with machine guns and claymores.”

I feel his hand on my back in a soothing gesture. “I’m gonna teach you everything I know, and I’ll keep you out of the line of fire, but you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

I shrug. “I sort of owe them, don’t I?”

“No.” He suddenly cups my face, his hand protected by my hair. “Look at me.”

I do, and I meet serious eyes, holding me captured with an intense stare. 

“You don’t owe anyone,” he tells me with a calm, low voice. “You either want something or you don’t, but it’s always your choice. Just yours.”

Oookay… Are we still talking about joining the team? My thoughts and feelings are all over the place, but somehow it seems like he’s talking about something else. Does he know about my plans with Bobby? Or is this about us? Are we having a ‘moment’? Oh, God. Am I imaging things again?

“Marie?” He’s expecting an answer, so I nod and remind myself to breathe.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He lets go and I hide my flushed face against his shirt, wondering what will happen if Bobby walks in on us. Or Scott. Or ‘Ro. Is there a book that points out all the rules when it comes to male/female friendship? What’s wrong and what’s right? Is it wrong to be this close to him? And if so, why? Because I enjoy it too much? Would it be different with Scott? Or would it be more acceptable if I were younger? From what age is snuggling up with a man other than your dad considered ‘wrong’? 

This is all so complicated. What’s black and what’s white? And who gets to decide those things? We’re not doing anything, but it’s making me nervous anyway. It’s making me feel *guilty*. And I hate it. I also hate to have all these questions tumbling over each other in my head. 

I shove all thoughts away again. I close my eyes and just sit and feel, because I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance to be with him like this. I might as well seize the moment. 

So I sit. And feel. And breathe. And love. And his warmth is making me sleepy. 

When I yawn, my human pillow rumbles, “Don’t drool on me.”

Giggling, I object. “I don’t drool. I’m just a bit tired. I didn’t get much sleep these last couple of days.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Shit. I don’t want to tell him I’ve been spending the last two nights with Bobby. I’m sure he’ll hear it sooner or later, but it’s not a topic I’d like to discuss right now. 

“Sometimes I just worry too much. It’s nothing, really.”

“Are you and Drake okay?”

“Yeah. We never really fight unless it’s about you. Although I think he finally starts to realize he’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Logan disagrees teasingly. “I *am* second on the list.”

I smile and despite my resolution not to do this anymore, I can’t help but go along with his conspiracy theory. “Bobby doesn’t know. That’s between you and me.”

“I see. So if I gut him during class no one will be suspicious.”

Ignoring my wild pounding heart, I giggle again. “Well, I didn’t think that far ahead, but I wouldn’t do it if I were you. You see, I actually *like* my boyfriend.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine, no accidents. I’ll just wait until he fucks up so I can claim my girl back again.”

Rolling my eyes, I refuse to let those words penetrate my heart, “You’re a dork, Logan. And a player, too.”

“What did I tell you about calling your teacher names?”

“You’re not my teacher first,” I remind him.

“I’m not?”

I lift my head to look at him. “No. You’re my friend. My best friend.”

“I can live with that,” he says, but then a lopsided grin appears, and he adds, ‘For now.” 

“Oh, shove it, you big slut.” 

I snuggle up and close my eyes again, and I feel his laugh more than I hear it. 

“Yeah, you want me.”

You got that right, you presumptuous bastard. More than you know.

* * *

How dreams can be deceiving. 

I’m in Bobby’s bathroom while my boyfriend’s sleeping like a baby. I don’t think I can doze off that easily tonight. I think I’m seriously lost. Even the girl staring back in the mirror is a stranger to me. What happened? 

I wanted my first time to be perfect. I wanted the perfect guy, the perfect situation. I wanted it to be romantic, with candlelight, background music, and sweet kisses. I wanted to get undressed very slowly and I wanted to hear that I'm beautiful while being kissed and caressed over my entire body. I wanted it to last for hours, and after we’d made love, I wanted to cuddle up and enjoy listening to the boy’s heartbeat the rest of the night. I wanted him to tell me how much he loves me, and how beautiful I am, and I’d return the words and everything would be perfect. 

So, that's the dream. This is what I got. 

Bobby and I slept together. There was no ‘love making’. It was… experimental? Making love is something else, but at least I *am* in love with him, so maybe that counts for something. 

It wasn’t anywhere near romantic. First, it was dark, and there was some fumbling which was sorta of nice even though I still missed being kissed. Then I got rid of my nightgown, and Bobby suddenly pulled the blankets off of me and switched on full light. 

Full. Light. 

I was so embarrassed I think even my toes turned crimson. I just lay there, naked as a jaybird, wondering if a visit to the gynecologist would feel the same. It wasn’t helping that Bobby was wearing the surgical gloves again, and he actually started to ‘examine’ me down there. I was too flabbergasted to even object. 

By the time the more rational part of my brain took over, he had a finger inside of me and I thought, ‘Oh, what the heck. If he’s gonna be my future husband, he might as well poke around some more.’ I honestly had no idea what he was doing down there. It was embarrassing and awkward, and at one point I had to bite my tongue because I was about to suggest to get himself a magnifying glass and a flash light. He was fumbling for all he was worth, but there was no climax in sight. 

Eventually I persuaded him to stop doing whatever he was trying to achieve and kiss me through a scarf. I really wanted to be kissed, because it all felt so clinical. After one quick attempt, he spluttered he didn’t like chewing on a piece of fabric. So then he asked if we could ‘do it’ already, and I just slipped on a pair of leggings and put my nightgown back on, telling myself I’m lucky he’s willing to go through all this fuss in the first place. 

He rolled on a condom and kept his shirt and sweatpants on as well. We both wore gloves, and we both had strategically cut holes in our clothes, and just when I thought that’s just about all I could manage, it got even worse because he muttered he didn’t really like the whole protection stuff. It made him feel limited. 

Limited.

Well, hello!

What the hell did he expect? That I could turn off my mutation the moment we dropped our clothes? Talking about a mood killer. But I couldn’t stop there. I didn’t think I’d ever try it again if I'd stop there. Because then what? Then we’d break up eventually, and I’d never know what it’s like to have sex. So I wanted to get it over with. 

And over it was in a blink of an eye. 

I think the whole thing lasted for just a couple of minutes. I didn’t like any of it. When he entered my body, it hurt. A lot. Like a bitch. I have to give him credit, he *was* gentle, and he *did* stop when I told him to. I had to adjust to the sudden invasion, silently thanking his perfectly normal-sized dick, because - Jesus Christ, what would it be like if he’d swung some giant stallion-like sausage my way? 

After a few moments, the pain disappeared though. So I gave him a ‘go’ and then my boyfriend’s face changed into a grimace of concentration, hovering above me and pounding his way to heaven. Or wherever he was aiming for. Wherever it was, I wasn’t in for the ride. I just lay there, trying to think of a way to participate in the fun and hoping he’d tell me he loved me. 

He didn’t. 

Was it wrong to expect those little words? And was it wrong to question my love for him as he was climaxing inside of me? Because I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know if it still matters. I’d been wavering on this crossroad for far too long, and it was time to choose a path. 

I choose this one. 

There is no going back now. I can’t turn back time and undo these steps. I guess I’ll just continue walking until I find a sign that shows me where I am. I just hope that, if I took the wrong way, there will be a shortcut to the right one somewhere out there.

So there I go. One step at the time.


	10. Chapter 10

“What time is it?” Bobby turns around and checks his alarm after our disastrous night. 

Whatever time it is, it’s too early. I’ve hardly slept three hours, so I turn around and grumble something that should pass for a ‘good morning’.

“Oh, only nine fifteen,” my boyfriend says while he rearranges our blankets and shuffles closer. “We still have all morning.”

Wait… what? 

Clearing my throat and cracking an eyelid, I ask, “Wanna go again?”

“Do you?”

Do I? Actually, no. But maybe this time it will be better. Maybe this time we’ll be more comfortable. Maybe we can concentrate on each other instead of the deed itself. I’m a bit sore down there, but maybe it’ll pass if we have another go. 

“Sure,” I say, but it doesn’t sound too eager. Still, Bobby smiles and goes hunting for all the necessary protection while I’m wondering: will it always be like this? Negotiating? Never spontaneous? Will I ever know what it’s like to start with a kiss? A kiss that will turn into something more? Gradually? Normally? And if not, can I accept it? 

Can Bobby?

I put on my pair of leggings again and make a mental note to buy them by the dozen. Using the same ones twice is plain icky. Like using the same condom twice. It’s just too gross. 

After dressing and putting on the gloves, Bobby starts caressing my breasts through my nightgown. I try to relax, try to feel my love for him, and I register his hands but don’t really feel anything. He’s caressing, rubbing, and pinching, but it’s not doing anything for my body. It’s like my brain is disconnected from the rest. It doesn’t feel genuine. It doesn’t feel like he’s enjoying it. It’s almost like he’s doing an oil check before going on a long drive. He’s preparing my body so he can have his pleasure. 

Why am I allowing this?

Because it probably won’t get any better with someone else. 

I have to face it: I’m dangerous. 

My skin is lethal, and I should be thankful Bobby’s with me like this. I should be thankful he dares to be this close. Of course it isn’t perfect, not even by far, but it’s the best I can get as long as I can’t control my mutation. And I probably never will. It’s time to realize I’m not normal, and it’s time to realize what Bobby’s risking by touching me. If it doesn’t turn me on, I have to do something about it myself. He’ll never know. 

While my boyfriend’s hands move over my clothed body, I try to come up with something sexy without being too explicit. I picture lots of faceless bodies, writhing, moving, and sliding against each other. All skin colors are present, and the air is tinged with passion, hunger, and lust. I’m among them, and they’re all touching me, licking me, biting my touchable skin. They want me, and I want them. All of them. 

I try not to look at their faces, I try not to picture people I know. Bobby’s hands are theirs. I want to feel them. I want to feel their weight on me. Feel the textures of their skin. Soft curves against hard muscles. If there’s chest hair on one of them, well, that’s just my overactive imagination. 

Reaching out to my boyfriend, I pull him on top of me. He complies eagerly and puts on a condom before slowly trying to enter my body again. 

Ow! What the fuck? It hurts like hell!

“Bobby, stop.”

He doesn’t comply. In fact, he’s doing quite the opposite. Without a warning, he suddenly rams into me, making me cry out and freeze in pain. 

“Aaah! You asshole! What the hell?” I gasp, trying to push him away from me and fight back tears. 

This hurts even more than yesterday. My God, it’s like tearing a stitched wound. How come no one told me the second time hurts even more? 

Bobby doesn’t really leave my body, but he does pull back a little. He answers a bit sheepishly, “Uh… I thought I’d get it over with.”

Completely upset by the pain and Bobby’s rudeness, I snap, “Are you completely out of your mind? I told you to stop!”

He shrugs a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I thought… I’m sorry. Really. Do you want to quit?”

Is this real? Is this really happening? Am I really having this conversation while he’s still half inside of me and I feel like I’m being impaled by a sword? Is it even fair to blame him? I didn’t know it would hurt like this either. Of course, now that I think about it, it makes sense. I *am* injured down there, there was tearing and blood and everything last night. Of course it hurts trying to do it again that soon. I didn’t get a chance to heal yet.

Bobby really does look like he’s sorry. If I quit now, I don’t think I’ll ever want to have sex again. This pain is not worth it, even though I’m sure it won’t be there next time if I just give myself some time, but so far I haven’t gained anything but pain and disappointment.

“No,” I tell him, taking a deep breath. “Just go slow. If I tell you to stop, you stop. You got it? Never *ever* do this again.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay. I’m ready again.”

* * *

While Bobby’s in the shower, I’m staring at the ceiling, going over my decisions. 

It sounds romantic to marry your high school boyfriend isn’t it? To have slept with just one guy your whole life. I’ve always pictured it like that. To just find the right one and stay together, always. I may have been adventurous when it came to leaving home and seeing the world, but I’ve never really been adventurous in the boys and love department. Still, is it a realistic idea? Is there such a thing as True Love? I don’t know anymore.

With my skin, it’s a miracle I’ve got a boyfriend. It’s even a bigger miracle I’ve got a boyfriend as cute as Bobby. If I want to quit this, I’ll probably never get a relationship again, and even if I do, it’ll never be with someone as equally handsome and nice. I’ve slept with him, twice now, so if I’m going to give up, I’m going to give up on the dream I once had. My entire life has changed so much since my mutation hit, I don’t think I want that part to change as well. I want to hold on, because it’s a part of Marie, not Rogue. 

Besides, I don’t really have any other options. 

It’s pretty clear Logan doesn’t want me. I know, because I’ve got his memories and thoughts. I’ve been digging and digging, but I just can’t find a single thought about me in relation to sex. He never even thought of me as ‘pretty’. He sees me as some lost little girl, and there’s something fiercely protective going on inside of him, but that’s it. He doesn’t understand that feeling though. To be honest, neither do I, but I’m glad it’s there. At least I got that part of him. 

Also, if I’m fooling myself with silly thoughts like he’s waiting for me to break up with Bobby, I can quit now. I’m pretty sure that, if Logan wants something, he’d take it. Even if it’s inappropriate. Or wrong. He would’ve fucked Jean if she’d let him. He didn’t give a damn about her relationship with Scott, so that whole ‘second on the list’ thing is a joke to him. I really have to stop trying to read more into it. It’s not fair to Bobby, and it’s not fair to Logan either. I want to be friends because I like him as a person, not because of this stupid crush. 

So, now what? I have to accept my relationship with Bobby will never be like what you see in the movies. My skin is always going to be a problem. Me being naked isn’t sexy, it’s a threat. Simple as that. And kissing will never be an option either. 

That leaves the one thing that has been bugging me for quite some time now. Bobby and I hang out about twice a week. Usually Wednesday and Saturday. Sometimes Sunday as well after he’s finished his homework. Of course I see him every day in the cafeteria, but then we’re always surrounded by our friends. He never looks for me at night, and he never shows up just for surprise. When I want to hang out with him on a day other than the regular, he’s got other plans, usually with Scott.

I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend, but wouldn’t it be nice to just *not* plan everything? It’s bad enough I have to plan every touch already. I just want *some* form of spontaneity in my life. Now, I sometimes feel like I don’t exist between those days. When you’re in love, don’t you always want to be with that person? Don’t you think about that person all the time? Because I do. I think about him a lot. Not always for the better, and mostly in doubt, but still, he’s there.

Unfortunately, so is Logan. 

I sigh and turn around while Bobby starts humming in the shower. 

He’s certainly in a good mood today. How come he doesn’t seem to have all these doubts? Am I missing something here? Or maybe he’s missing something? I don’t know. I don’t know what love is supposed to be like. What love should feel like. To me, it just hurts most of the time. It’s disappointing. It’s making me feel guilty. It’s making my life complicated. I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I really don’t have a clue how to change all that.

* * *

What a day. After successfully avoiding all sorts of intimate questions from my roommates, I’m now wandering through the hallways, searching for the one person I want to hang out with. 

I don’t bug Logan that often, and I hope he isn’t busy, but I really want to be around him and bask in his shielding presence right now. No one wants to come close when he’s around, so it’ll be a win-win for me. 

He isn’t in the Danger Room. Ororo and Kurt were testing a new simulation there. It looked pretty good. I wonder when I’ll be kicking virtual asses. Maybe during combat class with Kitty?

Oh, there he is. He’s unpacking boxes in the garage. 

“Hey,” I greet him while I close the door behind me, but he doesn’t really look up from his task. 

“Hey,” he replies absently, opening another box which contains several gaskets. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Gonna build my own bike.”

“Really? Cool.”

Now he does look up, a faint smile on his face. “Wanna help?”

Taking a few steps closer to look into the already opened boxes, I grin. “You trust me enough?”

“I heard you helped Cyke with the car.”

“Yeah,” I answer, lifting a brand new sprocket for closer inspection. “With your knowledge.”

He doesn’t seem uncomfortable about that. “Then we have two of me.”

I smile. “Okay. When do we start?”

“How about now?”

Looking at my clothes, I don’t think it’s a good idea to play tomboy. “Uh… I have to change first.”

He snorts. 

“What?” I ask him, partly amused, partly annoyed. “I *am* a girl, you know.”

“Trust me, kid, I know.”

Somehow I doubt that, but let’s not be pesky about it. 

“Glad you noticed, sugar,” I tell him, smirking, “Back in a sec.”

* * *

“Did you see the piston pin clips?” I ask, trying to sound all casual while I’m trying really hard to remember all the right names for these… thingies. 

My friend points at the other end of the workbench. “Over there.”

I still have to get used to knowing all this. If I just let it happen there isn’t a problem, but once I’m aware of digging up knowledge, I sometimes screw up. It’s not helping that I get distracted all the time. I want to talk about what happened with Bobby so badly it feels like the words are trapped inside my mouth, dying to break free. I have to lock my jaws to keep them inside. Of course Logan knows something’s wrong, because for the last half an hour, I’ve seen him studying me from time to time. 

“You okay?” he asks, and - shit, there you have it. Must be because I’ve been staring at those stupid clips for quite a while now. 

“Yeah. Of course. I was just thinking. About what to do with those clips. Why? Don’t I look okay?” 

He stops rearranging his stuff and looks at me. *Really* looks at me. The ‘I look right through you’ look. “You seem a little… off.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nothing. A bit tired. That’s all.” I pick up the clips and gather the rest of the cylinder kit. 

“You’re tired a lot lately.”

Not looking up, I shrug. “So?”

“So… what’s up?”

Sighing, I hop on the workbench and look at my greasy, bare hands. “Nothing. Can’t a girl be tired? I have a lot of homework, and I’m trying to become a pilot. You try to live your life, do homework, and have a relationship when you have to share your room with two chatty girls.”

Oh, such a lame excuse! He’s gonna see right through it!

When I don’t get an answer I glance up. He’s still staring at me, another set of gaskets completely forgotten in his hands. 

“Why don’t you ask for your own room?”

I nod. “I might. It would be nice to have my own place and not worry about others all the time.”

Especially now that Bobby and I are sleeping together. 

“I can talk to Chuck if you want,” my hero offers generously, and I smile. 

“Would you? Thanks. I’ll talk to him as well. Maybe he’ll be more convinced if we do the two-way approach.” I hop from the bench to sort my way through the boxes again, but he holds out his arm to stop me.

“Not so fast.”

Crap. I knew it. Well, see if I can get away with my ‘I’m all innocent’ act. 

Rolling my eyes, I slump my shoulders, and hop back up again. “What?”

He crosses his arms and casually leans against the bench. “Do I look like an idiot?”

I’m about to crack a joke, but he’s obviously not in the mood for my witty remarks so I answer reluctantly, “No.”

“Good. Spit it out.”

“Well, fine,” I sigh, cringing silently because I’m actually gonna talk about what has been on my mind all day, and it’s so embarrassing I don’t know how to act. “But it’s kinda intimate.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. 

Biting my lower lip, I try to scare him off. “Kinda like ‘the birds and bees’ intimate.”

Now he smirks. “My specialty.”

Despite my awkwardness I giggle. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Okay. So… suppose you’re with a woman. Sexually. Any woman. It doesn’t really matter who she is in this case.” I feel myself blush a nice shade of red, so I look at my hands again and try very hard to ignore it. “And… you’re about to, you know… enter.” Oh, how I wish I could teleport right now. “And suddenly, when you’re sorta… uh… halfway, she tells you to stop. Just like that. Then what? Would it be rape if you didn’t listen? You know, like, technically speaking?”

I think I just won the category ‘Making A Fool Of Yourself In Front of The World’s Most Wanted Bachelor.’ How extremely embarrassing. 

Logan thinks otherwise. When I finally have the courage to look at him, his intense stare is a mixture of concern and sheer anger. “Did he hurt you?”

“No! This isn’t about me.” I hurry to tell him. “You see, I’ve been reading an online journal, and this girl had a bad experience with her boyfriend. She asked for advice but I didn’t know what to tell her. My first impulse was she had to break up, but… but she loves him. Maybe.” Oh, my God, talking about a bullshit story. “So, what do you think? It seems so very rude to me.”

“It is,” he says, those hazel eyes still too observant for the likes of me, so I pick up a gasket and fumble a bit. 

“Oh.” 

The silence that follows is full of unspoken words. I know what he’s thinking. I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m thinking as well. He doesn’t believe me, but he won’t do anything unless I ask him to. And I won’t. Because I *do* love Bobby, and he probably knows that as well. 

“Do you think *you* could’ve stopped?” I ask quietly, not looking up and biting my lip. 

“I’m not known for my great self-control.”

It makes me smile even though it’s true. It gives me the courage to look up again. 

He’s picked up several parts of the cylinder kit again, but he’s pretty tense. At least he didn’t storm off to gut my boyfriend for hurting me. I guess that’s something.

“But what if you really care for someone?” I ask, suddenly intrigued by the thought of him being a gentle lover. I know he’s got a more tender side. I’ve seen it. 

“Depends.”

Curiously cocking my head, I ask, “On what?”

“Circumstances.”

Oooh… I’m not the only one who’s being evasive today. 

“What kind of circumstances?” I press the matter, and he seems to realize he’s not getting off the hook that easily. 

His eyes find mine, and he gives me one of his intense stares. “How much I want her.”

I swear I just saw something golden and hungry flashing in there, and it instantly makes all my girly parts tingle while I forget how to breathe. 

Scott enters the garage, “Hey guys, how’s it going?” and I think this is the first time Logan’s actually happy to see the X-Men leader. He instantly looks away, and it leaves me trembling and cold.

“Logan’s building his own bike,” I say, almost desperate to turn all attention away from me, but it comes out all croaky and breathless and - Jesus Christ… what the hell just happened? 

“I know,” Scott answers, furrowing his brows. “Came to check it out.” He looks around. “Did they deliver it all?”

Logan shows him the boxes, and soon both men are exchanging all sorts of technical yada yada, bending over the parts. 

It takes me a moment to will my brain back up and running, but once I’m capable of thoughts again, there’s only one question flashing around in bright neon: did Logan just get me wet and ready with just a goddamn *stare*?! 

I incredulously eye his backside, but he’s busy talking to Scott and doesn’t seem to be aware I’m still around. It all happened really fast, but I make a mental note anyway, just to be sure: do not try to play grown-up games with this man any time soon. It might become a bit too overwhelming, not to mention intimidating. It’s best to stick with what I know. That means planned, awkward sex with my fumbling boyfriend. Case closed.


	11. Chapter 11

Past midnight and I’m still wide awake. Jubes is snoring a little, Kitty is quiet, but I can hear her steady breathing. It sounds peaceful. Maybe I could sleep like that if I had a boyfriend like Pete. He seems to adore Kitty. He wants to be with her night and day. His eyes never really leave her when they are in the same room. They’re so cute together. I’m actually feeling jealous from time to time. 

It’s not fair to feel that way. It’s not fair to expect something like that from Bobby. I’m not sweet, innocent Kitty. I’m Rogue. I’m dangerous. I can kill with a touch. 

Sighing, I turn to my back and stare at the ceiling. 

Bobby was mad at me today. It seems like everybody knows we’ve slept together, and he’s blaming me for telling. First, I didn’t know it was a secret, and second, I didn’t tell a soul. I think he forgot we’re sharing this house with a lot of people, and I’ve got two roommates. They know when I don’t sleep in my own bed. They must’ve told the others, but like I said, I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret. 

Boys… I don’t think I’ll ever understand them. And men neither. I still can’t get over the stare Logan gave me. I’m pretty sure it was the ‘eye-porn’ stare Jubes keeps referring at, but it doesn’t add up. I must’ve imagined it. I must’ve. 

Damnit. It’s too warm in here. How I long for my own room. I need my own place. I want to throw off the covers and wear as little as possible if I want to. It’s ridiculous I’m considered a risk even in my sleep.

Softly rubbing my belly over my black, silky nightgown, I wonder why Bobby can’t caress me like this. And what would it feel like if Logan touched me? He’s got such big hands. He’s touched me more than Bobby ever did. A hesitant caress, a friendly tickle, a playful ruffle through my hair, but it never passionately. Never like I really want to. Never matching that hungry stare I saw today. Or imagined today. Or… whatever. 

I close my eyes, and my hand slides under the fabric. 

Whose hands do I want to feel? What eye color do I want to see? Whose muscles do I want to feel rippling under slick, sweaty skin? Whose voice do I want to hear panting my name? Whose weight do I want to be pinned under? Whose breath do I want to breathe? Whose strength do I want to surrender to?

Logan’s.

But it’s wrong. So wrong. 

Quickly I pull down my nightgown again, covering my skin. 

I’m instantly feeling guilty again. Disgusted as well. Logan’s my friend. Nothing but a friend. We’ll never be more, and I know I have the right to think whatever I want, but I can’t allow these thoughts anymore. Mentally cheating is still a way of cheating, and I can’t stand myself for being such a hypocrite. 

I’m not Jean.

* * *

Wednesday night. 

Bobby and I have done our homework together, and then we’ve packed some sandwiches for dinner so we could have a private picnic near the pond. I wasn’t sure if he’d show up after his weird behavior earlier, but he’d dropped by my room like he always does on Wednesdays, and so I just sorta went along. He doesn’t seem to be mad anymore. Maybe he knows I didn’t tell anyone about us, or maybe he’s fine with it. I guess I’ll just leave it be, whatever it was. I also didn’t bring up the ‘second time’ incident, but it makes me wonder, if I felt so *violated* by something so innocent, what would it feel like for *real* rape victims? How awful it must be to--

“I’ve talked to my parents,” Bobby says, pouring us another drink.

My thoughts instantly forgotten, I ask, “When? Why? How?”

“Two days ago. By phone.”

“Two days ago? And you’re telling me this *now*?”

Bobby meets my stare, partially irritated, partially puzzled. “Yeah. What’s the deal?”

“This is important, isn’t it? Didn’t you want to share ir with someone? With me?”

“I’m sharing it now, don’t I?”

I sigh and try to stay calm. This must be one of those boy/girl differences. Girls wanna tell, boys wanna think about it first. Or something like that. 

“Fine. What was it all about? Who called first?”

He shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed for some reason. “I called them. I wanted to know what was going on. Where we stand. Could I get my stuff? Could I come home for the holidays? Wasn’t there anything we could talk about? Those kind of things.”

“Yeah, that’s perfectly reasonable. What did they say?”

“Talked to my dad. He was glad I called. They’ve been seeking help from some therapist. Especially for Ronny, because he was seriously upset. He’s doing slightly better now.”

“Tssk. What’s there to be upset about? You make it sound like we did something wrong.”

Shrugging again, my boyfriend looks over the lake. “In a way I did. I lied to him.”

“Because he’s a creepy, little Nazi who wants us in the gas chamber,” I hiss. 

“He’s *not*. Try not to be so judgemental for once, okay? He’s my little brother.”

I blink. “Judgemental? Ha! He’s everything we fear! He hates us because we have different genes. Who the hell does he think he is? The new Hitler? And you’re defending him?”

Rolling his eyes, Bobby responds, “Keep Magneto in check, please. Ronny is a little boy, and he’s confused. I’ve talked to my dad and he thinks it might be a good idea if I go home for a while.” 

I’m speechless. I’m absolutely speechless. Is he serious?

“What about me? About Us? And the X-Men?”

“What about it? I can come here every weekend. Boston’s not that far. I can go to college there, and after that I can work for my dad.”

“As an accountant?”

“Yeah. I can take over the business eventually.”

I watch Bobby and wonder where I fit in. “When are you going?”

“Next week.”

“That soon? You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

Proudly smiling, he nods. “When I’m done with college, you can come over, too.”

“Oh.”

Do I even *want* to live in Boston? I want to be a pilot. I want to stay here with ‘Ro, Scott and Xavier. And Logan. I want to stay with Logan. 

Am I being selfish? Shouldn’t I be happy Bobby and his parents are trying to work out their problems? And it really isn’t that far away. Logan and I can still see each other when I’m visiting here, right? We can still be friends. 

“Rogue?” Bobby’s smile is gone. “Don’t you like the idea?”

“Sure,” I answer lamely. “I just… I guess I have to get used to a new future perspective. It would’ve been nice if you’d asked me first, but if that’s what you want…”

“It is.”

Maybe he’ll meet someone else in college. Maybe he’ll forget all about me. Maybe… I still got some time before I’m going to move as well. When the time’s there, I’ll deal with it.

Forcing a smile on my face, I meet his eyes. “Well, okay then. Boston it is.”

* * *

Friday night and I’m in my room once again, thinking about my day with Logan and Kitty. 

It was our turn for combat class, and we were all giggly because we didn’t know what to expect. When we entered the Danger Room, it was transformed to a Japanese Dojo. Logan was waiting for us, wearing some sort of Japanese outfit, and he looked absolutely stunning. Black pants called Hakamas, and two kimono-type robes over each other, a white one, and a loose-fit black one. I think it was called a haori, but I’m not sure.

Anyway, when Kitty and I finally managed to breathe again, we shuffled closer like two geisha’s waiting for the orders of their master. Logan told us we both had powers that were only useful in close combat, so our assignment was that we had to focus on our senses. It would be our only advantage against an adult male in real combat, and that didn’t sound too reassuring. Kitty and I exchanged some rather nervous looks, probably thinking the same: fuck, we were so doomed.

We both had to wear a short kimono over our clothes as well, and the we started with Tai Chi for about an hour. We tried very hard to copy all the moves, and it was wonderful to hear Logan talk about the exercises, just his voice, patient and deep, explaining what to do. It was also wonderful to be able to look at his body, so graceful and strong, without needing to feel guilty.

As it turned out, Tai Chi is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’ve got some dance experience, so I was able to mimic quite easily, but my balance clearly went downhill since I’ve left home. I really have to work on that. 

Then, for about two hours straight, we had to focus on sound and moving energy in the room. One of us had to be blindfolded while the other had to circle around. It was an exercise to train our attentiveness, and to grow confident in using other senses than just our eyes. 

It was kind of weird at first, and we both couldn’t stop giggling, but as time went by, the weirdness of it all faded. We became aware of sounds we never noticed before; rustling fabric, the sound of breathing, footsteps... At the end of the session, it was sort of loud and clear, and I understood why we weren’t supposed to wear perfume. It would be too obvious to find the other. 

Logan also wanted to teach us how to meditate, but Kitty and I felt far too restless and excited about our new skills to relax. Our surprisingly patient teacher assured us we needed to calm down after being hyper-aware, otherwise we’d end up with a headache, but it just didn’t work. We just couldn’t sit still long enough to clear our heads and stop all thoughts. 

Boy, do I regret that now. 

Kitty feels just as crappy, so we kicked Jubes out of our room and we’ve been quiet for the last hour, both lying on our beds. We didn’t feel like going to the rec room with all the noise and squealing kids. My ears are buzzing and my head feels foggy. Sort of like it’s stuffed with cotton or something. I hope it’ll pass soon. Logan wants us to train every day. It doesn’t have to be apparent – just counting people in the room, feeling their energy, hearing them, and being aware. We can also do our exercises in the Danger Room together, taking turns with the blindfold. It’ll be nice as long as I stay completely covered. 

“You know,” Kitty whispers, “I feel… like I’m *inside* myself. I know it sounds weird, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this connected with *me*.”

I smile. “Yeah. Same here.”

“Do you think Logan feels like this all the time?”

I don’t usually share personal stuff about him, but this seems a rather harmless questions, so I say, “No. When I had his powers, all scents and noises and lights were overwhelming. I think he had to learn to shut things out rather than take them in.” 

“Yeah. That makes sense.” She’s quiet for a moment, but then she asks, “Do you think this is what it feels like to be high?”

Chuckling, I shrug. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

“Think I’m gonna take a nap.”

Kicking out my shoes, I plump up my pillow already. “Good idea.”

* * *

Ugh. I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about today. About how nice it was to spend all those hours with Logan and see him do something he’s so good at. He’s got so much knowledge about a lot of things, and I wonder if Scott and ‘Ro know how intelligent and well-read he really is. Somehow I doubt it. He usually doesn’t show others that part of him. Such a shame. He’s so much more than just the cranky teammate hovering in the back. If only they could see him the way I do… Well, that would be kind of weird, I guess. They’d all have a bit of a crush on him. Heheh. I don’t think Logan’s going to appreciate the sentiment, especially when it’s coming from Scott. 

Okay, so my brain isn’t going to shut up, obviously. My thoughts are all over the place. I think I’m going to take a walk, see if I can clear my head a little. 

I get up, put on my shoes, grab my coat, and quietly slip out of the room. Kitty’s still asleep, and I guess Jubes is hanging out with ‘Ro again, probably watching the movie. I ignore my boyfriend in the garage, going straight for one of the exits to the grounds. The air is a bit chilly and it’s a full moon tonight. I take a deep breath and instantly feel better already, so I decide to go on.

I see Archie and Kurt shooting hoops when I pass the labyrinth and the basketball court. I wave at Kurt, and he smiles and waves back. I pass the memorial garden, but don’t stop at Jean’s grave. I think I’m going to the boathouse and just sit there to watch the lake for a while. It’s a quiet, serene place. The younger kids aren’t allowed to go there without supervision at this hour, and the rest of the gang usually hangs out closer to the mansion. I doubt there’ll be anyone there tonight. It’ll be perfect. 

I follow the path through the trees, and tell myself not to fantasize about possible creatures lurking in the dark. Still, I quicken my pace and feel relieved to see the clearing and the house. I walk up the steps to the wooden deck, going all the way around the entire lake, and when I turn the corner, following it to the back of the house, I spot two jean-clad legs and a pair of army boots. It’s Logan, sitting on the deck and leaning against the wall of the house, half hidden in the dark and smoking a cigar. He must’ve heard me stomping over the planking all along. 

“Oh. Hey,” I say, instantly torn between the usual excitement and also awkwardness - I don’t want him to think I’ve been stalking him or anything. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I get a acknowledging grumble for an answer, and I shift my weight from one foot to another, trying to figure out whether to stay or to leave him alone. It’s a bit weird to make the transition from teacher to friend, but it looks like he’s been brooding for quite a while now, and he was so composed during class. Did something happen since then? There are four bottles of… what, is that whisky? Oh, boy. I’d better stay. 

Pointing to the floor next to him, I ask, “This seat taken?”

“It’s a lousy seat with even lousier company,” he replies, his voice so deep it’s almost sounds like a growl. 

Yep. He needs a friend alright. 

“My, my.” I sit down next to him and look over the lake. “Having a party all by your lonesome?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip straight from one of the bottles. 

I should’ve put on a sweater underneath my coat. It’s kind of shivery now that I’m not walking anymore. 

I glance next to me and question out loud, “You think you’re gonna cave before I’ll end up with my butt frozen to the wood?” 

Sighing, he unenthusiastically puts his arm around me to pull me against his side. “No.”

Okay. I wasn’t applying for a hug, but this is all kinds of nice even though he didn’t seem too eager. 

“Mind if I pour out my heart instead?”

“No.”

Hmm. He’s got a very limited vocabulary tonight. 

I rest my head against his shoulder. “I liked your lesson today.”

No answer, just another large sip. 

Well, fine. I’ll just go on then.

“You were right about the headache. My head feels a bit funny. Maybe sort of like a hangover, but I don’t really know what that feels like.”

“Me neither.”

We both stay quiet for a while, and I think about this moment. It’s so nice and quiet around here. It’s easy to forget there’s a whole mansion full of people just a couple of minutes away. It sometimes feels like I’m living two lives. One with Logan, and one with Bobby. Both equally confusing.

Pulling up my legs to my chest to stay warm, I ask, “Do you ever feel like life is slipping right through your hands? Like, you want something really bad, and it seems within reach from where you’re standing, but then you stretch your arm and it turns out to be too far away after all?”

“All the time.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I knew you’d understand.”

Again, there is a silence in which Logan tries to get drunk, and I try to figure out my thoughts. 

Why can’t I just get what I want, starting with control of my mutation? Everyone seems to be able to control it, except for Scott. When I talked to the Professor about it, he told me Scott had some head injury when he was a kid. He’d been in a coma for a while, so that’s probably why he needs the visor. There might be something permanently damaged. All other mutations should be controllable one way or the other eventually, so why can’t I? Is there a switch somehow? I don’t feel it. I never felt it flipping ‘on’, so how am I supposed to flip it ‘off’ again?

Logan takes another sip and then clears his throat. “I’m gonna leave for a while.” 

I’m instantly back in the present. “Where?”

“Madripoor.”

Turning my head so I can look at him, I ask, “Where’s that? And for how long?”

He studies the label of the bottle. “An island to the south of Singapore. Two months. Maybe.”

“Why? You got a lead again?”

“Something like that.”

“Great,” I mutter, knowing he doesn’t tell me more if he doesn’t want to. “All men are leaving me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bobby’s leaving too. Next week. He made up with his parents, and now he’s gonna live with them.”

“What about you?”

“Well, thank you, sugar. You’re the first who asks me that question,” I tell him bitterly. “Everyone seems to assume I’ll just follow him like the clingy, dependent girlfriend they all think I am, but I actually had a plan of my own. It didn’t exactly involve a house in Boston and a marriage with an accountant.”

He chuckles quietly now. “No? What *did* you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought we all would stay here. You, me, Bobby. I thought we’d become teachers or something, and I wanted to be a pilot.” I think about it again, and suddenly I’m angry so I rant, “I’ve been trying really hard to be useful and make friends, and this is my home now. I don’t want to just drop everything again, and I don’t want to leave you either. You’re too important. Like, family... or something. And one day the mirror will tell me that I look older than you do, and then you have to stop calling me ‘kid’ because it would sound ridiculous, and then I can start calling *you* 'kid' instead, and... well, I don’t want these things taken away from me. Not without even asking.”

“You can still have all that without Drake,” he suggests casually between two sips.

Sighing, I close my eyes and lean against him again. “I know, but it’s not how I pictured it in my head. That’s what I mean with my goal just beyond my reach. I don’t feel like it’s up to me. Every time I seem to have figured out something, there’s another obstacle to defeat. I don’t have control over my life. I hate feeling so…. so in the hands of fate or God or whatever it is that plans our future. It sucks.”

Holding a bottle in front of me, he says, “You think too much. Here, try this.”

Despite my annoyance about everything, I can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed all of a sudden. “I’m sorry. Seems like I’m the lousy company here, huh?”

“Let’s drink and curse the world together.”

Giggling, I take the bottle. “Okay, but you have to promise you’re gonna make sure I don’t get caught. I don’t want detention. I’m gonna blame your sorry ass as the responsible adult if Scott’s going to find out.”

He opens another bottle, keeping his arm around me and grumbling, “Yup, that’s me. Always the responsible adult.”

I take a large sip and grimace when I try to swallow the burning liquid. “What are you talking about? And my God, this is disgusting. Even worse than beer. Or cigars.”

Ignoring my question, he says, “It’ll get better.”

“You mean after it numbed my taste buds?”

“Yeah.”

I swallow down another sip and mutter, “It’s not fair that you’re leaving me too. I don’t even have your tags to babysit. God knows if you’re ever coming back.”

“Fine. I’ll get new ones,” he says grudgingly, his warm breath close to my ear. “But I want something in return.”

I’m suddenly a bit out of breath. “Like what?”

“Like... this.” His bare fingers open the zipper of my coat a little, and he grabs the green, silk scarf around my neck. Gently pulling it away from my skin, the caress of fabric is suddenly the most erotic feeling I’ve ever experienced, and I sit completely still, my breath caught in my throat, my heart thundering inside my chest. When the scarf dangles from his finger, I can’t help the shivers down my spine. 

It’s from the cold, obviously. 

Nuzzling my hair, his voice is a deep whisper. “So… what do you say?”

I think my brain just melted and left my head through my ears. “Uh… am I supposed to say something?”

His low chuckle makes my body react with goose bumps all over. “I get your scarf, you get my tags.”

“Oh,” I stammer, wondering if I’m imagining things again. “Right. Okay. Sure.”

“Good.”

He stuffs the scarf in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and then he drinks half the bottle in one go while I’m still too mystified to comprehend what just happened. My heart is racing, and I hate my body for betraying my feelings so easily because he probably noticed it all and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. 

I think… yeah, it’s time to get insanely drunk.


	12. Chapter 12

One of the nicest things about being in Logan’s arms is the fact that I completely disappear in his embrace. It makes me feel so protected. He’s keeping his arm around me as if he’s afraid I might tumble into the lake or something. Well, he might have a point there. The world sort of spins around its axis every time I move my head, so maybe I should quit drinking. I’ve downed half a bottle already. 

“You know,” Logan says, sounding all pensive and serious and brooding, “you don’t have become old if you don’t want to.”

It surprises me he’s bringing it up again. He didn’t say anything when I mentioned it earlier, and we’ve been quiet for a while now. Has he been mulling it over all this time?

“Hmpf. What’re gonna do, visit me every birthday to give me my yearly dose of youth?”

“Why not?”

I shift a little so I can look up and to meet his eyes. 

“Well, for one, I don’t want to hurt you, and second, I never thought we’d be friends for *that* long. I mean, I *hope* so, but, you know…” I trail off, shrugging. 

I might have fantasies about him, but I’m not delusional. I *know* he’s gonna get tired of me one day. God knows what’s keeping him here this long already. 

The thought makes me sad, so I just drink some more to drown it all.

“Hey.” He gives me a squeeze. “I’ve made you a promise.” 

“I never took it as a forever and ever contract.”

“I don’t think I’ll live forever,” he answers, emptying his last bottle. “Hope not.”

Blearily eying the rest of the liquor in mine, I ask, “You really think we can be friends that long?”

“Why not?”

Oh, I like that idea. Actually, I suddenly see a whole new life right in front of me. What if I stay young with Logan’s healing while Bobby ages? That would mean that one day I’ll be free again. Free to start a relationship with the man next to me. If he’s into it, of course. I mean, I’d still be *me*.

“Maybe… because I’m an annoying mope?” I offer, only half joking, but Logan shrugs.

“I’m used to it.”

“Thank you, sugar. I love you too.” I take a few more sips, and I know I’m about to get really drunk because I feel funny. Sort of lightheaded and heavy at the same time, and carefree. What was I fussing about anyway? Everything’s fine. I’m in Logan’s arms and everything is fucking great. 

With a big grin, I nestle closer and say, “You know, I think I can live with that. With you. For another hundred years or so.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can’t stop grinning at the thought. 

I can have two lives. I just have to be very patient in this one, and I have to make sure he wants me in the second. Maybe I can control my mutation by then. There’s time. Lots of it. It might work out wonderful after all. 

I finish my drink, thinking he was right when he said it’ll get better eventually - it doesn’t taste that bad anymore. It’s also giving me the courage I normally lack, because I suddenly find myself wanting to hug the daylights out him. I try to turn around and sit on my knees, but then the world starts spinning again. 

“Damn waves,” I grumble, clutching onto my best friend’s arm to steady myself, and he seems to think it’s all very amusing. 

“You’re drunk. Come here.” 

Grabbing my coat and hauling me between his legs, he doesn’t hide that sexy smirk I love so much, and I’m suddenly sitting between his thighs, my back against his chest. I sigh contently because life is fucking awesome right now, and when he wants to pull his arm from around my waist, I make sure to keep it here. He seems to hesitate a moment, but then he pulls me a bit closer instead. I feel his jaw brushing against the side my head, and I close my eyes, relaxing my body against his. 

“You’re nothing but a big cuddler,” I mumble. “I wish we could stay like this forever. It’s so much better than real life.”

“This is real life,” his deep voice rumbles, but I disagree. 

“Nope. We’ve escaped. Just for a little while. When the lights go on, everything will be back to normal. Back to difficult and confusing and just… ugh.”

It takes a while for him to answer. “Maybe we should go back now.”

I grab his arm around me again to keep him from pulling away. “Wait. I want to stay a little while longer. I want to forget about classes and homework and boyfriends and everything. I’m finally feeling good again. I don’t want to be afraid I’m going to fall to pieces all the time.”

Logan stays quiet, but I’m getting quite worked up. 

“I don’t get it. I don’t get life and everything I’m supposed to do. Dorothy gets a yellow brick road and pretty red shoes, but I have to trudge through the mud on bare feet. It just isn’t fair.”

“Who?” Logan asks, clearly puzzled, and somewhere in the back of my head I know I’m not making sense, but I just don’t care. 

“No one. Some stupid cow who didn’t know her ass from a whole in the ground. It took her ages to figure out all she had to do was click those stupid red shoes three times and say, ‘There’s no place like home’ to get back to real life. Well, if I was her I would’ve stayed in Oz because real life - oooh, I like that.”

Somewhere along my tirade, Logan has started nuzzling my hair. 

Nice. Very nice. 

I tilt my head and moan quietly while my gloved hands trail over his muscled thighs. That arm around me pulls me even closer, and then his bare fingers are touching my hair. 

“We have to go back,” he says again, but he doesn’t sound all that convincing, and he doesn’t loosen his grip either. 

“Not yet. Things are finally starting to become interesting.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin just beneath my ear. It’s making me shiver and close my eyes in dazed pleasure.

His mouth travels lower and I offer him my throat, feeling intoxicated by his scent, the booze, the moment. His fingers sensually massage my scalp, and I gasp audibly when I feel warm lips nipping, stubble scraping, and maybe it’s my imagination again, but I could’ve sworn he just licked me. 

“Yeah, time to go.” Logan suddenly bolts to his feet and I tumble backwards, knocking my head against woodwork. 

“Ow!” Rubbing the back of my skull, I mumble sluggishly, “Whoa. That was intense.”

Logan glances down before edgily looking around. “Sorry. Come on, kid. I’ll take you home.”

Ugh. Why is he spoiling all the fun?

“Don’t wanna,” I complain, making a half-assed attempt to stumble up. “Got a much better idea. Let’s get naked and take a swim!”

“The water’s freezing,” Logan tries to reason with me. “You think you can walk back?”

“You’ll save me, sugar. You always do. And yes, I can walk, but be a nice hero and carry me, will ya?”

One moment I’m standing there, swaying on my feet and holding out my arms, the next I’m thrown over his shoulder with my butt in the air. 

“Not like that!” I squeak. “I’m gonna be sick!”

“You throw up, you get spanked.”

Despite the fact I’m feeling quite nauseated with every step he takes, I grin. “Now this could be interesting.” 

“Don’t start. I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

“Me neither. I’m ready for the real work. The rough, grown up, real work.” I try to growl and make claws with my hands. “Rooowl. I’m eighteen, damnit. I’m ready for sex, drugs and rock and roll. Rowl!”

Logan doesn’t answer, but I can hear him chuckle. 

“What?” I frown. “You think that’s funny? You think I’m just a kid, don’t you? Well, lemme tell you, I can be exciting. I can be what every man wants. I can make them crave me. You know why? Because I’m dangerous. I’m a challenge, and - by the way, you’ve got a really sexy butt.”

I grab his behind with both hands, but that kind of fun doesn’t last long. He swings me back into a normal position, one arm under my knees and the other around my back, his hand almost touching my breast under my arm pit. This, I like. 

“Happy now?”

“Yes, sir. I almost felt like some bimbo you’re about to molest in your cave.” I tilt my head thoughtfully. “Although that doesn’t sound too bad, I guess. I prefer you being my knight though. Not one of those stupid ones in tights with their crotch between their knees. That’s really dumb. If they can’t find actors who look good in tights, just transfer the whole damn story to another era. They’ve done it in Jesus Christ Superstar, so why not with, like, Robin Hood or something? I’m sure Robin would’ve looked cool in jeans, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it makes sense in your head.”

“Exactly,” I agree, nodding. Then I sway my legs in the air and sing, “You’re strong to the finish, ‘cause you eat your spinach. You’re Popeye The Sailorman!” 

Logan just keeps on marching towards the trees and the Mansion. 

I really like it up here. Think I’m gonna close my eyes for a moment. I’m suddenly kinda tired.

* * *

When I wake up, I see we somehow managed to get into the house, but I don’t think we’re going the right way. 

“This isn’t the girl’s wing,” I slur, trying to stay awake to help him navigate. 

“You’re sleeping in my room tonight.” 

“Ooooh!” I sing. “*Someone* came to his senses! Well, better late than never, huh?”

He ignores my teasing and grumbles, “Keep it down. It’s late.”

I giggle and hold my finger to my lips. “Shhhh. Don’t want Scott catching us doing naughty stuff.”

Enjoying the conspiracy, I drowsily await my destiny and look around when he walks over the threshold of his room. While he closes the door with the heel of his boot, I think his room always seems the same. Empty. And lonely. And it makes me sad. 

Meanwhile, Logan lowers me on the bed after pulling away the bedspread and disappears from my vision. I try to open the buttons of my coat, but my fingers don’t seem to cooperate. This whole being drunk-stuff is really weird. I don’t know whether to giggle or pass out.

My knight comes back again, and he carries a glass of water which he puts down on the nightstand. He’s got his jackets off already. 

“Ugh,” I huff, and I wrestle none too gracefully to get my arms out of the sleeves. “I’m so tired. Really tired. Think I can sleep forever. Like Cinderella. Oh, wait. That was the one with the shoe and a giant pumpkin. I mean the other one. Was it Aurora?”

He stays quiet, tugging at my shoe laces. 

“Double knot,” I inform him. “Just like my momma taught me. Don’t wanna trip over loose ends.”

He manages to pick the knots and yanks my shoes off of me while I wonder if I should take off my jeans. While a part of me is still curiously waiting what’s going to happen, the more rational part knows this is it. He’s going paternal on me again, probably tucking me in any moment now. I’m just yanking his chain because I can, so let’s just start with my belt and take it from there. It’s got a big butterfly buckle, and that doesn’t sleep too comfy. 

After picking up my coat, my belt, and putting away my shoes, my hero sits down next to me and says something I’ve been dreaming about for as long as I’ve known him. 

“Let me touch you.” 

I sigh, thinking this is such a sad, sad day. 

“As much as I like that sound that, I’ve got a boyfriend.” Scrunching up my nose, I try to remember the name of said boyfriend. “Bobby! Yes, Bobby. Blonde. Blue eyes. The sweater-wearing version of Justin Timberlake.” I giggle. “Although he can’t sing. And he can’t dance either. That I know of. But he *is* my boyfriend, because I’m wearing his ring and all, so… no, can’t do, sugar.”

Logan stares at me with an amused smile curled around his lips. “I meant to heal you.”

“Oh!” I roll my eyes. “Well excuse me. Why don’t you say so? You made it sound all kinds of kinky.”

He sighs exasperatingly but keeps his patience. “Fine. Let me *heal* you.”

That makes me giggle. “Now you sound like Jesus. Did you know I once had a crush on Jesus as well? We had this little cross on the kitchen wall with a really handsome Jesus nailed to it. He wore a loincloth that was about to drop. Great body. Very sexy. I don’t think that’s right though. Jesus should be sexless, don’t you think? Like, Michael Jackson.” 

Logan blinks and then narrows his eyes at me. “What?”

“Uh… dunno. What was the question again?”

“Damnit, kid. You’re drunk. It’s my fault. Let me fix it.”

“Oh, yeah. That. No.”

“Just a brush.”

“No. If I’ll end up with another dose of you in my head, I’m gonna growl at Bobby. The you in my head doesn’t like it when he touches me.”

Staring me blankly, he says, “The me in front of you doesn’t like it either.”

“Well, too late. You’ve had your chance,” I say, smirking, and I’m slightly satisfied to rub it in. 

“Really? Must’ve missed that one.”

“Yes, you left, remember? Don’t you go Casanova on me now. You know damn well I still have a crush on you. Hush and let me get over it.”

Warily hazel eyes are watching at me, but I curl into a ball and put my head on his thigh. “You’re my *best* friend in the *whole* wide world, Logan. Don’t play with my feelings. I can’t handle it.”

Tangling his hand in my hair I can barely make out his soft spoken words before I fall into a black bliss. “I meant everything I ever said.”

* * *

Owwww… headache. 

Ow, ow, ow. Pounding headache. 

There’s something inside my skull, trying to hammer its way out. 

Owwww – wait… where am I? This isn’t my room. It’s.. Logan’s room? 

Huh?

I try to sit up straight and almost throw up, so I quickly lie down again. I’m still wearing the clothes I wore last night, minus my coat and shoes, and.. oh, my belt is gone as well. What the hell?

Ignoring the pain the best I can, I concentrate on last night. 

I… got drunk. 

At the boathouse. 

Very drunk.

With Logan. 

Right. 

It was way after curfew, and I was so drunk I couldn’t even walk straight. I think. 

Crap, I miss quite a few details. 

How did I end up here? And where’s my partner in crime? Last thing I remember is him throwing me over his shoulder to get me home. I think he was afraid I’d drown or die from hypothermia if I went skinny dip… Oh, my God! Did I actually want to go skinny dipping? And somehow there’s also a memory of me grabbing his ass?!

Slowly, I slide back under the blankets and groan. 

Please, let that be my overactive imagination again. 

Slowly, more memories seep into my thundering skull, but there’s no way he’d press me against him like I’m remembering, and there’s no way he’d nuzzle my neck, using my hair as protection. 

And… oh, God… he’d *never* kiss my neck or lick my throat. Never. 

Right?

Nope. 

Not in a million years. 

Because he doesn’t like me like that, and I would’ve pushed him away. I would’ve told him I have a boyfriend. 

I would.

Wouldn’t I?

Absolutely!

So… it must’ve been a dream. A very nice, sorta erotic dream.

Or, maybe he gave me a nice, fatherly/brotherly/whatever-ly smooch, and in my twisted, little brain I transformed it into something more. Yeah. That must be it. My subconscious is playing tricks on me. 

Pfft. Like Logan would *ever* make out with me. Ha! Who am I kidding here?

But… crap. What *happened?*

I peek from under the blankets to check the time, and I notice a glass of water on the night stand. Again ignoring my painful head, I also see some aspirin and a note. 

Picking it up with trembling fingers, I read:

_"Take the aspirin and drink a lot of water._

_I told ‘Ro you’re sick and using my room to get some sleep. She’ll check up on you._

_Talked to X. He agreed you need your own place._

_Check the left pocket of your coat._

_Back in about two months. I’ll call._

_L.'_

There is nothing about nuzzling and/or kissing my neck. I think I just blame my black-out for that one. Besides, what to write? ‘Hey, kid, nice nuzzling your neck while you’re drunk?’

Right. Get real.

Okay, so ‘Ro will check up on me. That means I have to prepare a story. Thank you, sugar, for pointing that one out. Always one step ahead of everything. Nice. And awww, he’s such a sweetie for talking to Xavier about my own room. When he’s back, I’m gonna give him a hug for that one. Platonically, of course. Let’s be clear about it. What’s that about something in my pocket? Maybe I can combine checking it out it with a trip to the bathroom. Yeah. Good plan. Seems like my brain cells are still partially functioning in there. That’s nice. 

Okay. First things first. Aspirin and water. 

Oh, man... I’m never going to get drunk ever again.


	13. Chapter 13

His tags. Logan left his tags in my pocket, but how’s that possible? Artie said he threw them away. Did he buy new ones? These look less battered, and they have two holes for the chain instead of a slot in the middle, so they must be different. Still, I don’t get it.

After my bathroom visit I’ve also looked for my scarf in his room, but I can’t find it anywhere. I guess he actually took it with him. I don’t really get that one either, but it makes me all mushy inside anyway. I’ve decided to blame my current condition. I’m still recovering from a hangover after all. 

Clutching the tags in my hand, I quickly slip back under the covers, trying very hard not to think about the fact I’m in *his* room, and in *his* bed. Has he slept here last night as well? Or did he stay awake? Doing what, exactly? Looking at me while I was drooling on his pillow? Jesus Christ, this is all very awkward. 

A soft knock and a “Hey, pretty” announce my boyfriend. He’s shuffling in with a concerned look on his face, carrying a tray with what seems to be lunch. 

“Hey,” I greet back, quickly hiding the tags the pocket of my jeans and feeling a wave of guilt washing over me, especially after everything that’s happened last night. I’ve been asking myself if I had to come clean with my little make out session, but since I have no idea if it *actually* has happened, I decided against it. For now. 

“How’re you doing?” Bobby asks, worriedly observing me. 

“Better. Much Better.” I put on my gloves again.

He sits down next to me and puts the tray on my lap. “I’ve brought you something.”

“That’s so sweet,” I say, ignoring another rather nasty sting of guilt in my chest. 

Lowering his eyes, my boyfriend modestly smiles. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking, I haven’t been the best company these last few months. This is my way of making up. I’m sorry for being so difficult.”

Hey, that’s the cute boy I got my ice-flower from! Where has he been all this time?

Carefully reaching out to him for a hug - don’t want to knock over a glass of milk, I sigh contently. “Thanks, sugar, but I understand. You had a hard time. We’re okay, right?”

He nods in my hair and untangles from my embrace without really looking at me. “Yeah. Of course. So, you’ve slept here, huh? Where’s Logan?”

I shrug. “He’s gone. For about two months.”

He shrugs uncomfortably and fidgets. “Did he sleep here as well?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him, and I try to come up with something not quite a lie. “I wasn’t feeling very well. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. He only offered to lend me his room because I’d get more rest here. I mean, you know Jubes, right?”

Now his eyes lock onto mine and he nods, seemingly confident. “Yeah. Definitely more rest here. Hey, Kitty had a headache, too.” He frowns as if he just remembered something. “What did you guys do in class yesterday? Seems like our combat teacher demanded a bit too much.”

Oh, yeah. You can say that again. 

I attack lunch with a sudden appetite and try another not-quite lie. “It’s our own fault, really. He said we’d end up with a headache if we didn’t calm down and meditate, but we were far too restless. Well, he was right. But let’s talk about you right now. How’re you feeling? Nervous about leaving?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s packed. I wanted to have this lunch near the pond, but this will do.” 

He’s awfully chipper all of a sudden. 

Putting down my cutlery, I say, “I’m sorry for ruining our last day together. Maybe I can take a shower--”

“No, don’t worry,” he cuts me short. “You still look a little pale. We’ll just stay here. Is that okay?”

Oh. 

This is weird. It’s almost like he senses something’s off and now he’s trying to get back into the game. It’s giving me the creeps. Does he know? Did he see us last night? I don’t think so, but he really *is* sweet right now. It’s been a while. He suddenly makes me feel special and loved. I sort of forgot this boy exists. He’d been such a mope since the attack, and all this time I’ve been dreaming about other men. Well, one in particular. Maybe I even made out with him while I was beyond drunk. Or… was he making out with me? Anyway, it’s still horrible of me if I just let him. 

Glancing up from my plate, I produce a smile. “Sounds good, sweetie.”

* * *

I have to admit, life is remarkably easy without Bobby and Logan around. Bobby is coming back next weekend, and I can’t wait to show him my own room. I even got two beds in here. I use one as a couch with lots of yellow colored pillows on it. They are Jubes’ favorite, obviously. I painted the walls a soft shade of orange, and the bed spreads matches the forest green curtains. My room looks like beautiful day in Fall, my favorite season. 

It took me about a week to get it ready. Now, I spend as much time as I can up here. I don’t even really miss my best buddy and the boyfriend. I’m happy being on my own. Perfectly happy, actually. Sure, I was sad to see Bobby leave last week, but, like I said, life turned out to be much easier. For the first time since I’m here I actually feel good. Maybe it was because we’re not ready to live together. We shouldn’t be in each other’s company all the time. We’re too young. Bobby was right to cut our days together to just two a week. I really feel bad about being all whiney about it. It was a smart thing to do. I know that now. It’s funny how a little space and time alone can make you see things more clearly. I shouldn’t have taken our relationship so seriously. It’s supposed to be fun.

My cell phone rings and I look at the display. It’s a number I don’t know, so maybe it’s Logan. I’d been waiting for his call. It’s been quiet so far. 

“Hi?” I say, torn between hope and awkwardness, because… what if it’s him?

“Hey.” 

Yep, that’s the deep voice I know so well, sounding like he’s surrounded by a bunch of people partying like there is no tomorrow. 

“Hey! You okay? What the heck is going on up there?”

“Wait, hang on.” 

I hear a lot of shifting around. I think he’s covering the phone with his hand, but I still hear the sound of breaking glass clearly. There are people screaming, and I think someone actually gets punched in the face. 

“Shit. Call you back,” he grumbles, and then he’s gone, leaving me staring at my phone, not knowing whether to be worried or to laugh. 

Well, no matter where Logan is, one thing is clear: trouble seems to follow him anywhere.

* * *

Moonlight sonata. How I love the first movement of the piece. The melody. The drama. The flowing, harmonious rhythm with almost hesitant notes. It represents a longing, a desperate hunger. It’s an evolving masterpiece with such a timid beginning, tentatively searching the limits of its reach. Then, slowly, it’s becoming bolder, more confident, and aware of its beauty just before it accepts its unavoidable destiny: a melancholic silence. 

I usually stop there. I’m not a fan of the second movement - it’s too cheery, and I’m not skilled enough to play the third. I know the first movement by heart though, but here I am, staring at the keys of Xavier’s grand piano, hearing the music in my head yet unable to create it. 

I guess I’m afraid. Afraid of going back in time. Afraid of missing my old life too much. Afraid of calling my parents, just like Bobby did, but only to find they don’t want me anymore. I’m afraid of breaking down the protective wall with every chord I play. The keys, black and white, are weapons. I can’t brace myself against the pain that’ll surely come, so I find myself caressing them, relishing the cool, ivory surface. 

Just one chord. Or maybe two. 

The sound fills the room. Gentle, perfect chords that capture me, and soon there is nothing on my mind but the music and its perfection. 

When the finals chords blend into silence, I hear a noise behind me. Startled, I turn around to find Scott leaning against the closed door. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he apologizes with a sad smile. “I couldn’t make myself leave. I didn’t know you could play.”

A little embarrassed I look at my bare hands in my lap, trying to wrestle with all kinds of emotions inside of me. There is so much he doesn’t know. 

“Eight years of lessons,” I tell him, uncomfortable to elaborate about my past. The past that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. 

Taking a few steps in my direction, he nods. “It shows.”

“Well, I’m a bit rusty. It’s been a while.”

“Are you going to keep it up now?”

Turning back to the instrument, I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess. I’ve missed it.”

By now he’s standing next to the piano, his hands in the pockets of his pants, his back straight. “Me, too.”

Surprised, I look up. “You play?”

Sadly, he shakes his head. “No. Jean did. I thought I was going crazy when I heard music coming from here. I had to check it out.”

“Oh. And than you find me. I’m sorry.”

He smiles evenly. “Don’t be. It’s a nice surprise. I used to listen to her a lot. Jean’s favorite composer was Bach. She said she liked the complexity of it.”

I roll my eyes. “Bach liked to cram different melodies in his music. They all sound as one when you play, but when you divide his work, you’ll find out it’s an ensemble of little, stand alone tunes. It’s like playing backwards when you first try his stuff.”

“Yes, that’s similar to what Jean said,” Scott replies, genuinely grinning, clearly remembering a nice moment between him and his deceased fiancé. “She said Bach wrote *intelligent* music.”

Laughing, I confess, “I agree. That’s why I stick with Beethoven.”

A bright smile appears. “Don’t sell yourself short, Rogue. You’re one of my best students. I hate to see you leave.”

Now he’s got my full attention. “Leave? Oh, you mean Boston?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not going right away. I still have my senior year to go,” I say vaguely, not really showing my true feelings about it, because truth be told, I’m not really sure if Bobby and I are going to make it through this year. 

“True,” Scott agrees, not aware of my doubts. “But anyway, if you ever want to try Bach let me know. I still have all of Jean’s sheet music. It’s yours if you want.”

I answer with a grateful smile, “Thanks, Scott. I might take you up on that offer.”

* * *

My cell’s ringing again. I hope it’s Logan, and I hop on my bed, leaving my just folded laundry for what it is. “Hello?”

“It’s me again.” 

Yep. Logan alright. This time he’s alone. I think. 

“Hey. What was that yesterday?”

“Carnival. Some asshole was looking for a fight. He got one.”

“Ow,” I groan. “I almost feel sorry for the bastard.”

“Don’t. He ruined my jacket.”

“Crap. I liked that jacket. He deserves hell.”

“He got it.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. How’re you holding up?”

“Good. Got my own room and I love it. Kitty and Jubes moved to Scott’s old suite, and Scott moved to Bobby and John’s old room. Thanks for talking to the Professor.”

“It’s okay. Did you find the tags?”

I giggle even though I wasn’t supposed to get all girly. “Yep. Where did you get them?”

He doesn’t answer right away, so that means he’s pondering what to tell me. 

“From my file. At Alkali Lake. Those are the other half.”

Oh, my. He never told me that. 

“I didn’t know you’ve found your file.”

“Had to leave it,” he says, clearly not comfortable talking about this. “The place was about to flood so I only took the tags and ran.”

That’s even worse. How awful. He might have had his past in his hands, and he had to leave it to save the others. It’s making me all emotional, but I’m sure that will make this conversation even more awkward. I’m not really sure what to say. 

“Marie?”

“I’m here,” I assure him, feeling quite stupid for nagging about the tags when they represent such a painful memory for him. “I’m sorry.”

His reply is short and flat, but understanding. “Yeah.”

Time to change to the subject. I think he’s about to bolt. 

“Hey, I checked Madripoor. It sure is a long way from home. How did you get there?”

“I swam,” he answers dryly, and it takes a while to sink in because he’s usually quite factual. 

“Huh? Oh, get out of here! I mean, did you take the Jet or did you fly commercial?”

“Commercial. Why?”

“I didn’t think you could. You know--”

Crap. I’m saying all the wrong things today. I didn’t really mean to bring up the whole adamantium stuff. 

“I work for Chuck. Anything’s possible.”

“I guess,” I agree, doubtfully, because I’m not quite sure if he means it in a good or bad kinda way. “So…. did you find what you’re looking for?”

He sighs and there’s another pause before he answers. “More or less. I’ll tell you when I get back.”

“Okay.” 

There is a weird silence between us. It’s never really been there before. I stand up to look out of the window, nervously biting a nail. 

“Hey, Logan? About… uh… about that night? Before you left?”

I really want to know what was real and what’s not, because I’ve been thinking about it all the time and it’s driving me nuts. Still, I don’t want to make an ass out of myself and ask if he really licked my neck. I mean, I still have *some* dignity left. I hope.

He stays quiet, so I consider what to say. Weighing my options, testing the words in my head. 

“Did I really want to go skinny dipping?” I ask, knowing it’s such a cheap shot. 

“Yeah. You don’t remember?”

And I’ll be damned if I don’t hear relief in his tone. 

“Well,” I hedge, “some things are kinda blurry. So, you wanna fill me in? Did I miss any good parts?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘good’. I *did* get you in my bed. Does that count?”

“Oh, very funny,” I grunt, smiling, “Too bad you got cold feet and ran to the other side of the world.”

“Kid, you snored like a chainsaw before I could impress ya.”

“I did *not*!”

He laughs quietly. “Hey, gotta go. Call you later, okay?”

“Well, okay. Bye. And take care, you hear?”

“Sure.” 

And then he’s gone. 

I flop on the bed and clutch my phone to my heart, feeling all jittery inside. 

Crap. I really should get over him.

* * *

Time flies when you’re having fun. Careless fun, that is. One week, two, three – they all blend into periods of working out with Kitty in the Danger Room, shopping with Jubes, classes, homework, playing piano, reading, and watching TV. You know, *normal* stuff. Stuff that doesn’t get a human being frustrated. Well, except for physics-class, but the Professor is tutoring me privately two hours a week in the one. 

Meanwhile, I also try to meditate, but I’m still too restless so I always give up before I reach that inner-peace-I’m-so-grounded kinda feeling. Logan calls once a week, but doesn’t actually say anything. Bobby never calls, but he comes home every weekend and then we go out, sometimes to a movie, sometimes to the mall, or sometimes we just hang out in my room and talk about the things that we’ve been doing the past week. 

We also fantasize about our future, and it surprises me Bobby seems so certain we’re always going to stay together. He talks about buying a house, about taking over his dad’s company, and a part of me is very happy about his unwavering belief in us as a couple, but another part of me wonders what he knows and what I’m missing.

He’s always sleeping in my room when he’s here, but we only had sex twice. I have to say things are looking up though. I guess it’s all about practice. And imagination. Because, even though I think Bobby is really handsome, I have to admit he just doesn’t really turn me on. I don’t know why. I guess… he just isn’t sexy? Is that possible?

It’s weird though. I do find him attractive in a boy band-handsome kinda way, and he’s generally really sweet. It’s just, when push comes to shove, I keep thinking about upcoming tests while my head should be filled with images of wild sex and passion and stuff. So I got myself a solution – I pretend.

I gave up the skin color orgy because it didn’t fit with just one pair of hands in latex, so now my favorite fantasy is the one where I seduce a guy in the sauna. I never picture his face, and there’s never a name, but if he’s muscular and if there’s chest hair… well, so be it. I happen to like those things. 

I do wonder sometimes, does Bobby think about other girls when we’re at it? And I also wonder, how many people are making love to the person they’re with, and how many are using their partner just to fulfill a fantasy? I never really thought about those things before. I guess I romanticized sex. I thought it was all about love. I thought it was a connection between two people who exchanged feelings too pure they could never be captured in words. 

Kind of foolish, if you ask me now. As I found out the hard way, Sex is just another kind of hunger. Whether you satisfy it with a healthy apple or bad candy, it doesn’t really matter at all as long as you eat *something*. It’s one of those disappointing revelations you encounter when childish dreams are replaced with real life experience. 

Sometimes, growing up is nothing but a bitch.


	14. Chapter 14

“My parents want to meet you,” Bobby says. “Again.”

We’ve been hanging out in my room. Well, actually, I’ve been exploring my boyfriend rather thoroughly. It was kinda weird to have sex without really knowing what was going on down there in the boy’s department, so I decided to just push him back and play doctor for a while. Heh. Good thing we have to use condoms though. I didn’t have to go through the whole awkward ‘swallow or not swallow’ dilemma. That would spoil the mood for sure. Just like the thought of meeting his parents. 

“Great,” I mumble half-heartedly. “You think they can handle it this time? I don’t really feel like dealing with an entire police force all by my lonesome.”

Bobby snorts. “Very funny. Yes, they can handle it. Actually, they want to apologize for what has happened.” He stands up and stretches. He’s got bed hair and he didn’t shave for two days. 

“Better late than never, I suppose,” I mutter, thinking that I totally dig the scruffy look. It makes him more mature. If only I could feel his stubble against my skin…

“They’re not the enemy. They were… shocked.”

“Right. Their son comes out of the closet, and they call the cops. Very rational. Are they going to say sorry to Logan as well? He got shot in the head.”

“Hey, my *parents* didn’t shoot him, and it was Ronny who called the cops.”

“You don’t always have to pull the trigger to be responsible.” I get up and make my way to the bathroom to get somewhat decent for dinner. 

“You’re really upset about this, are you?” he asks, and I turn around. 

“Well, duh! If it wasn’t for the adamantium, his brains would’ve been splattered all over your front porch. He would’ve been killed for having claws he never even asked for. I think that’s quite upsetting.”

Bobby rolls his eyes and turns his back to me. “I only asked you to meet my family again. Sorry I brought it up.”

Okay. He’s right. No need to bite his head off. 

I cross the room and put my arms around him. “I’m sorry. I’m just not jumping with joy to meet them. I’m sure they were shocked, and I’m sure Ronny didn’t mean it like that, but the truth is, if it weren’t for Logan’s healing, he’d be dead.”

Turning around in my embrace, he agrees. “True. I haven’t really thought about that. I mean, he’s invincible. I figured--”

I interrupt him. “No, he isn’t. He heals. Just because he doesn’t whine about his injuries doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt. He feels pain, you know.”

Bobby rests his chin on top of my head and puts his arms around me. “You’re right. I’m sorry I took it lightly. Can we get back to the subject again?”

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. I’ll meet them,” I give in. “When?”

“Dunno. How about during Christmas? You can come over and we can spend a whole week at my place.”

I look up. “You think *you* can handle me an entire week?”

He squirms a bit. “Of course, but you might be sleeping in the guest room.”

“Wonderful. We’re back in kindergarten now?”

He shrugs. “They’re *parents*. They don’t want to know we’re doing adult things. And they’re concerned about your skin, of course.”

I let go of him and make my way to the bathroom. “Well, yay. Sounds like a blast.”

* * *

Those two months of relative silence did all kinds of good to my crush. Sure, Logan called, but those calls were just checking up if I was okay and to let me know he was still alive as well. It was like a normal friendship. No weird underlying tension, no flirtation, no confusion. Just fun and a platonic kind of caring. I can live with this. No shades of grey anymore. Everything’s back to black and white. What a relief. 

Last Friday, he told me he’d be back this week. I’m gonna be mature about it all. I’m not going to jump into his arms. I’m not gonna follow him around. I’m not going to flirt with him, and if he starts, I’m not going to return it. I’m going to live my own life, and I’m going to spend time with him like I do with any other. I even got rid of the tags two weeks ago. They’re hanging on the bulletin board above my desk. Bobby was being a bit jealous about them, and he’s right. I’m not Logan’s girl. Those tags are perfectly safe up there. It’s about time I move on. It’s been long enough already.

* * *

I’m on my way to Scott’s office to ask him for some of the sheet music from Jean’s collection. He said I could have it if I want to, but I only want to borrow something to see if I should give Bach another try. Who knows, I might be able to understand his music this time. After all, I’ve improved my math skills as well. 

I’m about to knock when I hear him shout angrily, “We could’ve saved them!”

“From what?” That’s Logan, sounding equally aggravated. “A life like a fucking vegetable? Their brains were fried.”

My heart skips a beat because I didn’t think he’d be back today. I hold my breath and listen. I knew Scott took the Jet for a mission last night, but I didn’t know Logan was involved. 

“You didn’t know for sure,” Scott barks. “You’re not a doctor. Hank--”

“There was no time. We had an agreement,” Logan cuts him short. “You couldn’t do it so *I* pushed the button. You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.”

“We do *not* have the right to play God!”

“No, we leave that to Chuck, won’t we?”

Oh, my. That sounded really pungent. What’s he referring to? 

Scott is suddenly eerily calm. “I’m not discussing this with you again.”

“Of course not. We don’t want *his* reputation to be tainted, do we?”

“Everything he does, he does for a good cause,” Scott bites out, but Logan doesn’t agree. 

“I heard that one before. Does Hitler ring a bell? Magneto?”

Scott lets out a cold, short laugh. “That’s ridiculous. If you hate it here so much, why don’t just get lost? None of us will miss you, Wolverine.”

“Fringe benefits,” Logan returns coldly, and I cringe because I hate the thought of Logan not being welcome here. He’s got nowhere else to go.

Suddenly I hear Kurt’s voice trying to soothe both men. “Please, calm down. We will talk about it in debriefing.”

“Right,” Logan snorts. “Let’s hold hands and pray for our sensitive little souls to be forgiven.”

“It is not a bad idea, mein freund. God always listens.”

“Sure. He just doesn’t understand Canadian.”

Scott mutters barely audible, “Yeah, you’re the only one who’s having a tough life.”

Logan bites back, “At least I don’t walk around like a spineless victim.”

“No, you’re just an asshole without a shred of compassion.”

This is getting way out of hand, but I’m not the one who has the right to stop this. What’s going on in there?

I can hear Logan is trying to keep his anger in check when he says, “Unlike you, oh-great-fearless-leader-who-can’t-even-push-a-fucking-button, I already know my weaknesses. I just don’t let them get in the way of doing my job.”

“If your job is killing innocent people, I’m perfectly happy with the way I am now,” Scott replies, and now there comes another voice to the rescue. It’s Hank. 

“Quiet, both of you. This isn’t constructive any longer. We agreed to terminate the compound, and we acknowledged a calculated risk of fatalities. Perhaps you should collect ourselves and talk about your disturbances when you are able to articulate your opinions in a more sensible manner.”

Everyone’s quiet now. Thank you, my sweet Hank. 

I think I need to get my ass out of sight before anyone sees me. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear this.

* * *

Oh, the joy of boredom and no boyfriend around. And damn Logan, too. He didn’t even drop by to tell me he’s back again. I’m *not* going to look for him. I’m going to keep my cool, just as I planned. 

I throw his tags on my pillow. I’d been wearing them in case I’d run in to him, and I wanted to return them without an audience this time, but it seems like he’s not in a hurry to get them back. Well, in two days Bobby will be here. At least he’s reliable. 

Too bad I’m pretty sure he’s going to bring up the meeting with his parents again. And Ronny, the little bastard. I don’t think I can act civil around him. I have to make sure I’ll keep my jaws together once I’m visiting. I don’t want to make a bad second impression, although I doubt I can top Bobby’s family when it comes to being rude.

Damnit, I don’t want to fret about the Drakes. I’ll deal with them once I’m there. I have to find something to occupy myself with. 

Kitty and Pete are probably in Kitty’s room, making out or something. Don’t want to spoil the fun. Hank is probably in his lab, as usual. He’s not very talkative when he’s researching stuff. ‘Ro and Kurt are spending a lot of time together lately, so I don’t want to intrude there either. The Professor and Scott went away to some convention, and Jubes is having herself a new boyfriend who lives in town. He’s human. He doesn’t know she’s a mutant yet. I hope it’ll work out. Starting out with a lie isn’t really the best base for a relationship, and I speak from experience. 

But let’s not go there. 

So, now what? Watch TV? Read a book? I should have a TV up here. That’ll be nice. Maybe I can save some money from my allowance every month. 

A sudden knock on my door startles me a little, so I hastily grab the tags to hide them from whoever it is. 

“It’s open!”

The door opens and Logan’s standing there, leaning against the frame. 

“I’m back,” he says for a greeting, taking in the surroundings but not entering my room, and despite my good intentions, he still manages to take my breath away, just by standing there. 

“So I see,” I answer, forcing myself to stay put instead of jumping up and hugging him. 

Okay. I’m so not going to return his tags now. I don’t want him to see they’ve been under my pillow. Things have been weird enough already. And is that a new jacket? It sorta looks the same, but it doesn’t have that worn-out look yet. 

But it’s not like I know every detail of his clothes or anything. It’s just a careless observation. 

Yeah. 

So.

He jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Whatcha doing?”

Pretending your overwhelming presence doesn’t strike me one bit. 

“Nothing. Being lazy. Won’t you come in?”

“Nah. Just passing by.” He looks around one more time. “Looks nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I agree. “It’s like an October-day in the woods.”

“Yeah.”

He seems a bit edgy. His eyes dart through my room, adeptly avoiding me. What’s that all about?

“So… where are you going?” I ask when the silence is getting on my nerves. 

“Out. You got something tomorrow?”

His change of subject takes a second to sink in, but then I can’t stop the smile slipping on my face. “Nope. I’m done with class around three. Why?”

“I could use an extra pair of hands with the bike.”

Oh. 

Well, that’s a nice equivalent of a cold shower. We’re gonna play mechanic again. It’ll be safe and companionable, both ignoring I’m a girl and do the male-bonding stuff. 

Which is good. 

Because that’s what I wanted. 

“Sure. I’ll be there around three thirty.” 

“Okay,” he agrees, backing up already. “Gotta go.”

“’Kay. Bye.”

He slams the door closed like he couldn’t get away fast enough. 

Weird. 

The man’s got some serious issues, that’s for sure.

* * *

When I enter the workplace of the garage, I don’t see Logan anywhere. There are some sizzling noises behind a piece of canvas that’s dividing the area in two, so I carefully take a peek and see him welding some tubes. Probably the bike’s frame. I’ve never witnessed a welding process before, so I curiously move closer to check out all the white fireworks. 

“Don’t look into the light,” Logan says from behind some spacey-looking helmet, continuing his work and keeping the torch in an unwavering, gloved hand. 

Oh. Right. UV. Don’t want to burn my eyes. Or something. 

I see the same kinda helmet, leather gloves, and a dark blue coverall on the other side of the workbench. 

Great. This is all kinds of swell. I’m gonna look like a Martian. But it’s okay. It’s not like I wanted to look nice for him or anything. 

While I step into the thick coverall, I try to dig up some welding knowledge but come up with very little. I still feel Logan’s presence clearly in my head, but all information is fading. It’s been a little over half a year since Liberty Island, and I didn’t use him much these last two months. It’s all leaking away. 

I’m wearing his tags around my wrist because I wanted to give them back, but it looks he’s busy, and I don’t want to damage them. I hang them around my neck before closing the top buttons of my protective clothing. Jamming the helmet on my head and changing my gloves for the thick, leather ones, I make my way back to Logan and the tubes. 

Hey, this is quite a nifty helmet. It darkens automatically when I look into the light. Cool.

Logan finishes and takes off the helmet to check the result up close. “TIG would’ve been better, but… what do you think?”

Um… It looks good to me, but what do I know? 

Lifting up the protective shield, I study the smoldering weld as well. 

“I have no idea,” I answer honestly, glancing up. “I’ve never done this before, and I’m losing your knowledge.”

Now he finally looks at me, but I can’t really make out what he’s thinking. He looks… curious maybe? His eyes travel down over my coverall, and he even checks my shoes. I’m wearing my army boots, and they seem to get his approval because he faintly smiles and asks, “Wanna try?”

“Oh. Uh… now?”

I swear he’s about to go “duh!” on me, but all he does is smirk and say, “Yeah.”

I’m feeling quite stupid with the helmet still on. 

“I don’t think I can. I don’t want to cause an accident. I mean, this is the frame, right? What if it suddenly breaks when you’re on the road?”

He shrugs it off rather casually. “I’ll survive. Come on, I’ll show you. We’ll do a test-weld first.”

Staring at the tubes, I give in rather reluctantly. “Well, alright.” 

Okay. So I wanted a nice, platonic relationship because I was going to move on, right? He sure is helping me by playing the instructor role very well. Somehow I doubt he’ll try to convince any potential fuck to let him teach her how to weld, so I’m definitely back to his pupil again. I *wanted* this, didn’t I? 

Then why am I feeling to goddamn disappointed all of a sudden?

Logan doesn’t seem to notice my frustration. He adjusts the wire feed, checks the spool, puts the helmet back on and grabs two small pieces of tube. “Hold them together like this. I’ll attach them.” 

I flip my shield down and do as I’m told. 

He picks up the torch and asks, “Ready?”

“Yep.”

As soon as the first flash appears, my visor darkens again and it’s kinda hard to see what’s going on, but the tubes are suddenly together. I let go and watch the bright, white fire, trying to concentrate on the speed and the distance between the metal and the torch. Logan’s standing close and his arm’s touching my shoulder. I shouldn’t notice something insignificant like that, but I do.

When the blaze disappears, I have to admit I still don’t have a clue what to do. Going to my room and have a good cry doesn’t sound too bad actually. What do I care about that damn bike of his? I hope he’s done soon so he can get the hell out of here. Moving on while he’s around is proving to be quite fruitless if my twisting insides are reliable indicators every time he brushes against me. 

“Your turn,” my clueless hero says, offering me the torch. I can’t see his face because he’s kept his shield closed, and it’s making me nervous. 

Fidgeting a little, I stammer. “Uh… I don’t know how.”

“Come here.” Grabbing my sleeve, he gently pulls me in front of him so I face the workbench. “Take this.” He hands me the torch and it feels like a pistol. “See this trigger? It starts the wire feed. We’re using MIG, so you don’t need a filler rod. It’s easier than TIG, you’ll see. You just have to feel it before you know how fast you can move. We’ll do it together.”

MIG, TIG, whatever. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and… oh, no. Now he’s right behind me, bending over and caging me between his body and the bench. His right gloved hand closes over mine - wasn’t he welding with his left? He levels his view with mine, and his left hand settles loosely on my left shoulder. I think my heart rate just went up a notch, and it’s definitely not from welding-excitement. 

“Okay?” he asks, and I sincerely hope he’s asking because we’re going to weld and not because I’m about to swoon. 

I can only produce a slightly gasping, “Uh huh,” but he seems to take that as a ‘yes’, because he moves our hands and pushes my finger down on the trigger. There is a sizzling spark instantly, making me jump and back away, but he blocks my escape and tightens his grip on my hand. 

“Easy, kid.”

Pfft. Easy. Yeah, easy for him to say. Startled the shit out of me. My nerves are all over the place. 

We try again, and – hey, this is going nice and smooth. He sets the speed, keeps my hand locked in his, and maybe it’s the gas or fumes or whatever, but I think I’m getting slightly dizzy here. 

Almost involuntarily I melt against his form, but I can feel him tense a little. Aside from the gloves and helmet, he doesn’t wear protective clothing, just tattered jeans and a long sleeved cotton shirt. I could’ve sworn I felt him take a gulp of air before easing me back towards the bench again, meanwhile keeping the torch in motion and producing a pretty even weld with just a tiny glitch from the moment I leaned against him. 

The moment we’re done he moves away from me pretty quickly. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” I lie, now thankful for the shield because I didn’t pay any attention to anything but his body against mine, and I can feel a blush taking over.

Logan also keeps the shield of his helmet down, and he sets up another two pieces of tubes. “Okay. You try this time.”

I sigh and I brace myself for another round. 

This is going to be a looong day.


	15. Chapter 15

“Done,” I say with a smirk. 

After almost four hours of hard work, the bike’s frame is finished. I have to admit, I’m quite proud of my welding skills by now. It’s all my own effort, not from the Logan-in-my-head. It took me a while to get used to his real life presence and concentrate on the bike, but now I think I have that stupid crush under control again. Thank God. 

The object of said crush is standing right next to me, admiring the result of our hard labor. He’s been quite edgy since the moment we welded that test-piece together. More than usual, I mean. He didn’t talk much other than explaining things, and I mostly got one-syllable answers to the rest of my questions. 

First, I thought he might’ve been angry at me for something, but I don’t think that’s the case. If he was, he wouldn’t have been so patient with me. Glancing over, I push my luck to spend some more time with him and hopefully make him talk after feeding him beer. 

“I’m starving, sugar. Wanna grab a bite somewhere?”

“Sure.”

Yeah. One syllable alright. It makes me want to poke him with the torch, but at least he doesn’t want to get rid of me just yet. It’s something, I guess. 

“Okay. Gonna change into something less Martian-ish. See you here in about half an hour?”

“Yeah.”

Ugh. I *definitely* have to make him talk.

* * *

The ride to this bar was mostly quiet. We just finished dinner, and we’re supposed to talk because we can’t pretend to chew anymore. He sits across from me in the darkest booth of this joint, and he still doesn’t seem very conversational, even after six beers already. 

I’ve been thinking about telling him I accidentally eavesdropped during his quarrel with Scott. He might cave if he finds out I already know something, and going for the direct approach, I confess, “I overheard you and Scott yesterday.”

He studies his bottle, not looking up. “I know. Caught your scent when I left.”

Of course. How could I forget those senses? 

“That sounds funny, you know. If I didn’t know about that whole smell-thing, I’d be offended,” I try to lighting up his mood. 

It doesn’t work.

Casting me a quick glance, he asks cautiously, “What did you hear?”

“Something about pushing a button and brain-dead people. Sorta sounded like one of those hyped Japanese zombie-movies.”

He doesn’t answer. 

“Soooo,” I try to break the silence, “wanna talk about what I heard?”

“No.”

I observe him but he stubbornly avoids my eyes. 

Sighing, I give up. “Okay. How about a hug?”

Guarded, slightly puzzled eyes snap up again, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“You know, a hug. A sign of affection between friends,” I point out light-heartedly, and now a ghost of a smile appears before he looks down again, both hands clasping around his beer. 

“No. Thanks.”

“You sure?” I try very hard not to be offended, and bending my head to catch his gaze, I say, “’Cause you sure look like you could use one. And your beer is getting warm like that.”

I get a lopsided grin. “I’m fine.” 

“It’s free,” I try to persuade him. “That means you don’t have to return it. It’ll be a one way affection. No strings attached.”

Which seems to be the story of my life.

Logan doesn’t notice my sudden bitterness. His eyes dart through the dinner, settling on anything – anyone - but me. His uneasiness tugs at my heartstrings, because I want to reach out to him so badly it hurts. 

Not able to ignore my feelings, I put my gloved hand over his and ask quietly, “Come on, Logan Will it be easier if I say that *I* need one?”

Surprisingly, he instantly entwines his fingers with mine, squeezes, but then he lets go just as fast. “I’m fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

I sigh. So much for playing shrink. 

“Alright. I give up. You win. It’s my turn to chat about my problems now.”

He’s suddenly back in the game. “What problems?”

“You know, normal teenage stuff. Nothing life-threatening. You don’t have to kill anyone or anything.”

I meant it as a joke, definitely not literally, but he looks away again and I realize my mistake. 

Oops. I just put my foot in my mouth. Great. That’s what the whole fight with Scott was all about. Fuck fuck fuck.

Slumping in my seat, I say, “Okay, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you guys were talking about, but I’ve heard enough to know that was a bad joke.”

He sighs. “It’s okay. Just… drop it. What about you?”

“Bobby wants me to meet his parents.”

“Why?”

“They want to apologize or something. And I *am* dating their son. At some point you can’t avoid meeting the parents. Officially, I mean. Seeking shelter and wearing their clothes doesn’t really count.”

Scowling, he says, “Okay, I’ll be around if things don’t work out.”

I can’t help but smile at his concern. “Aww, thanks, sugar. I’m sure it’ll be okay. Although I don’t think I can act normal around that little shitface Ronny. Maybe I can trip him on the stairs or something.”

“When are you going?”

“Christmas. For about a week.” I bite my lip and nervously fidget with my glove. “I hope I can make it through. To be honest, it’s giving me the creeps just thinking about it.”

“Call me if there’s trouble.” Then his attention suddenly focuses on something behind me, and he curses, “Fuck.”

I’m about to turn around when two seemingly endless legs in a leopard legging appear next to me. When I look up, I stare at two tits crammed in a too tight, sorry excuse for a shirt, saying, ‘Size Matters.’ 

Whoa. Those breasts certainly make a nice shelter. 

“Hello, sexy,” I hear in a sultry tone. “Remember me?”

I try to look beyond the gigantic boobs hovering above me, and I see a pretty blonde with golden earrings and red lipstick. She takes a suggestive stand, shifting her weight on one leg, one hand holding up a cigarette and the other on her hip. 

Ugh. It’s bad enough I have to eat in places where you can smoke, but I don’t need it in my space. I can tolerate cigars, but cigarettes are just plan nasty.

Logan doesn’t seem to be interested. “Diagnosed amnesia,” he says with that damn straight poker face of his. It almost makes me giggle but I manage to keep it in. 

Miss ‘Size Matters’ laughs out loud, baring perfect white teeth. “You still haven’t lost your sense of humor, I see.” 

I frown at that. She either doesn’t know him well, or he’s hiding his stand-up comedian double life pretty well. Casting him a questioning look, I try to ask him without so many words, ‘Who the fuck is this?’ 

He briefly meets my eyes, raising an eyebrow, and I know him well enough to know that face means, ‘No one. Ignore her.’

Leopard Legging doesn’t catch on. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, inhales deeply, and continues, “It’s been too long, Cowboy. Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

Again, Logan apathetically stares at her. “No.”

God, he can be so subtle. Like, a-bazooka-up-your-ass subtle. 

“Huh?” the blonde asks, slightly bewildered and momentarily losing her feisty attitude. 

“I said, ‘no’,” Logan repeats slowly, and I sit back to have a better look from one to the other, feeling kinda sorry for the woman.

When realization sinks in, she throws away her smoke and huffs, “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

My buddy doesn’t answer, but she obviously didn’t expect one because she crosses her arms, pushes her breasts up to her chin and gives me a once over before she returns her attention back to him. 

“We fucked,” she says, and to her credit, she’s not sugarcoating it or making it more than just that. I’m almost rooting for her now. 

Logan pins her with a piercing stare. “I only remember the *good* fucks.”

Ouch. Even I could see that slap coming a mile wide, but he doesn’t block her hand and takes it without so much as blinking an eye.

“Bastard,” Blondie spits. “Go to hell.” She turns around and meets my eyes briefly. “You *and* your little slut.”

Hey, now! I was on her side! What a bitch!

I’m not sure whether to be offended, amused or disgusted. I think I’m all three at the same time, and Logan seems to feel the same. He watches her retreating back - probably checking out her ass, with a partly irritated, party amused smirk. 

Staring at him and wondering what I would’ve done if I was her, I say, “You know, sometimes I forget what a true asshole you can be.” 

He seems to snap out of his thoughts and reaches for his wallet in his back pocket. “Glad to remind you. Finish your drink.”

Frowning, I ask, “What for?”

“I’ll take you back,” he answers, shuffling out of the booth already and again not meeting my eyes. 

Great. Now we’re back to dodging. This is getting both repetitive *and* annoying. 

“Now? Why?” 

Then I have a little light bulb moment. 

Tilting my head and narrowing my eyes, I ask, “You don’t really think I’m shocked, do you?”

He remains quiet, standing next to the table and scowling at his boots. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Prince Charming. It’s not like you fell off your horse or anything.” I laugh and lean on the table with my elbows. “You see, I never put you on one.”

Now he meets my eyes and knowingly raises an eyebrow. 

It makes me blush and look away. “Well, okay. So maybe I pictured a mule, but definitely not a horse.”

“A mule?” he asks, and I love how the puzzlement is clearly readable on his face. 

“Yep. A tiny one. Makes you drag your feet over the ground.” I giggle at the mental image. 

Sitting down again, he seems to contemplate my explanation while I curl a leg underneath me and lean back into the booth again. 

Still grinning, I say, “You really thought I can fly a plane and put an engine together with your knowledge, and be totally unaware of all those nameless, faceless alley-fucks? Please!” 

To be honest, I tried very hard to ignore all that. It just made me jealous and it was weird to feel turned on by women. I think he was only partially turned on by them though. There was also a part indifference, a part plain lust in general, and a part that’s sort of unclear. I think it was disgust, but I’m not sure if it was self-loathing or if it was something directed at the women. All in all, it was definitely a bit too dark and confusing for the likes of me, so I really didn’t go there.

“Storage,” he says, and I focus again.

“Excuse me?”

“Fucked her in the storage room in the back.”

I blink, for a moment stunned by his sudden directness. “Oh. So you *do* remember her?”

He snorts. “Only because of her name.”

In an awkwardly perverse kinda way I wait for more details, but when I don’t get them, I impatiently tap my fingers on the tatty wooden table. “Well?”

He signals a waitress. “It’s ‘Jean’.”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Okay. That’s *so* pathetic. You seriously fell off your mule right now.”

“Good,” he answers with a lopsided grin, “I prefer to walk anyway.”

* * *

I’m in the library, scanning the shelves without actually reading the titles. It’s been three days since Logan and I had dinner, and I haven’t seen him since. We both laughed about Blondie back in the car though, so I think we’re good. I totally forgot to return the tags, so I’m back to wearing them around my wrist and under my glove again. I just have to make sure I’ll take them off when Bobby’s here. It’s really not worth a fight.

Thinking of Bobby, he was quite chipper about my upcoming visit. He is going to show me all the places he hangs out with his old buddies nowadays. I think it’s mostly the garage – he and three other guys apparently bought another piece of junk that needs to be restored, and then there’s the comic shop. 

My boyfriend’s such a comic book geek. He persuaded me to read the latest issues of Spiderman, and I actually liked it. Although I still don’t have a clue what Peter sees in that Mary Jane chick. She doesn’t seem too eager--

I suddenly get caged by two muscled arms on either side of my shoulders, and I yelp, turn around, and press my back into the book case. “Logan! Jesus, I swear, if you scare me *ever* again--”

He cuts me short and keeps me locked. “How many people in here?”

“What?” I’m trying to control my racing heart and gasp for breath because, truth be told, his sudden closeness is turning my legs into jelly. The shelves of the bookcase are pressing into my back while I hold an encyclopedia protectively in front of me, using it as a shield of some sorts. God, he smells good.

“Don’t peek,” he orders, smirking, when I try to look around him to quickly count the other students present. “It’s a test.”

“Hey, now, that’s not fair. You should’ve told me. School regulations say you have to announce tests a week in advance.”

And, please, remove those arms. It should be forbidden to walk around with rolled up sleeves. And an half open shirt. 

“So report me. Didn’t you practice?”

Shrugging, I mumble, “Yeah. Of course. Just… not right now.”

And I really hate my breathless voice.

“Try it anyway.”

“Ugh. Fine. Give me a minute.”

I close my eyes and try to ignore all sorts of fantasies tumbling over each other inside my perverted brain. Fantasies of him tearing my blouse and yanking off my jeans and taking me hard against the bookcase while books are falling from the shelves with every forceful thrust. 

Oh, fuck. He’s *so* gonna know what I’m thinking. He’s gonna smell it. Oh fuck. Oh fu--uh, I mean, oh *darn*. ‘Fuck’ is not the right profanity right now. God, I’m so screwed. Ugh. I mean ‘doomed.’ I’m so *doomed*.

“You still awake?”

I open my eyes and hope to show him a vicious glare. “I was *thinking*, and now you broke my concentration. Did you attack Kitty like this as well?”

“No use. She’d phase.”

True. She’d be gone in a blink of an eye. Her mutation is so useful. She can escape from just about anywhere. Then again, I *do* secretly like being cornered by Logan. Even though I’m about to hyperventilate. And lick that spot just beneath his throat. And then probably swoon.

Staring at me with an amused half-smirk, my friend-annex-teacher says, “I can hear the whispers right now. If you don’t want to start rumors, you’d better come up with an answer.”

“Well, that’s a little late now, huh? I guess I have some explanation to do this upcoming weekend to a certain *boyfriend*,” I bite back to disguise my embarrassment. “And since you’re my teacher now, this pose could be seen as a serious case of sexual harassment.”

It’s a low blow, but it’s worth a try to make him back off so I can take a good look around.

For a moment I think I went too far. His face changes from amusement to a mask of blankness, but then he narrows his eyes and one corner of his mouth curls up again. 

“I’m impressed. You almost talked your way out of it.”

“Crap,” I mutter nervously, still pressing myself against the book case and holding the encyclopedia in a tight grip. “Thought that one would work.”

“Well,” his eyes drop a few inches, and he says, “I can be an asshole again and say I was seduced.”

Looking down, I realize to my own horror I’ve been embracing my book a bit too tight, causing my breasts to seek their way up to escape from getting squished. I’m been creating a cleavage even former wonderbra model Eva Herzigova would be jealous of.

“Oh!” I exclaim, moving my shield up to block his view and feeling a warmth spreading all over my body. “You are such a slut.”

He laughs. He actually laughs. A low, hoarse sound that makes me want to kiss him so badly I have to bit my lip. Hard. 

“Hey, I *do* have feelings,” he says with greenish-hazel eyes that seem to sparkle with joy. “Now come on, kid. Tell me the amount of students staring at us or I’ll have to give you an ‘F’.”

“Can’t I get a second chance?”

“Nope.”

Frustratingly pounding my head against one of the shelves, I close my eyes again and mutter, “I hate you.”

Okay. Focus. Who were here when I entered? The past months I’ve been training myself to notice those things. I can do this. 

“Pete was drawing near the window,” I vocalize the memory, keeping my eyes closed to avoid distraction. “Flea was there with him. There were a few kids in children’s section. Four of them, I think. Then there’s Artie teasing Syrin in the back. They were running around. I wanted to tell them to be a bit more quiet, but Pete did it already. Then we have you and me, so that makes… ten. Nine students and one teacher.”

When I open my eyes, I’m just in time to see him lower his arms and take back a step or two. He shows me an approving half-smile. “Good. Time for phase two.”

I frown skeptically. “Which is?”

“Work-out.”

“You’re kidding me.”

He turns around and puts his hands in his pockets. “See you and Kitty Friday at three. Wear something you can move in. Not too warm.”

Watching him carelessly wander off, I’m suddenly aware of the eight pair of eyes staring at me. 

Blushing, I clear my throat and announce, “I’m okay. It was just an observation test.” 

My fellow students and housemates look at each other and then back to me again. I use their disbelief to high-tail my way out of there, but when I cross the doorstep, I turn around and grin. 

“Oh, and uh… I passed.”


	16. Chapter 16

Jubes just burst into my room without knocking. A whirlwind of yellow and pink, glaring at me in a mixture of skepticism and frustration. “You sneaky bitch. Making out in public and you didn’t even invite me? Tssk!”

Widening my eyes and not knowing whether to laugh or to be offended, I instantly know she means the whole library incident. “What? I didn’t do anything anywhere!”

“Try again, chica. Everybody is talking about your encounter with the Wolfmeister,” she points out dryly, tilting her head and tapping her foot. “From all the things I’ve heard, the air was like this.” She waves her hands around, creating some fireworks. “They were all waiting for the moment he’d rip off your clothes and show you his other impaling skills. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about - the ones without involving claws?”

Oh, God, yeah…

Despite my own enthusiasm, I manage to roll my eyes. “Oh, please. He didn’t even touch me, and even if he wanted to – which he doesn’t, he can’t. I’ve got this life-absorbing skin-thing, remember? It was all a test. An observation test. Ask Kitty.”

“I did. He didn’t corner her in a totally alpha male kinda way. He didn’t stare at her boobs so obviously. No way, Roguey, you’re not getting away with this. He *so* wants you.”

I want to giggle but I pull myself together. “Jubes, get real.”

“I *am* real. What are you waiting for? I’d be up his room wrapped in nothing but some scarves already! He’s been devouring you with his eyes since the moment you turned eighteen.”

Now I laugh out loud, even though I’ve seen that look once. It was just once. I think. “Devouring? Girl, you’ve been reading too much trashy novels. And are you forgetting Bobby? We’re still together, you know.”

“Why?”

“Huh? What do you mean, why?”

“Chemistry, Rogue. We’re talking chemistry. I used to think you were great together, but that was *before* the hungry eyes stuff. You and Bobby have exactly none anymore.” She holds out her hand, her thumb and index finger creating a perfect circle. “I never thought you’d have a chance with the Predator out there, but damn, he *so* wants you.”

“You’re nuts. Jubes. You really are.”

She sighs, sits down on my couch-bed and taps to the spot next to her. “Okay. I was afraid it would come to this. Fine. Sit. We’re gonna have a talk.”

“About what?” I ask suspiciously, but I do as I’m told. 

“You’ll see.” She turns to me and shows me her most serious face. “Listen. I’m sure you love Bobby. I do too. We all do. He’s nice, he’s sweet – he’s the perfect brother.” 

I want to protest but she holds up her hand and cuts me off. 

“Shut up. Last week, I saw you two reading comics together. It looked cute. Seriously. I hear your talks about ice hockey and old timers. That’s cute as well. Cute. Not Hot. Not ‘God, let them get it on already because they’re making me horny just by watching them’ hot.”

She questionably stares at me like I should get it, but truth be told, I’m not really sure if I understand where she’s going.

“So? Not everyone has that. And I have my skin--”

She stands up, lets out an exasperated breath and almost yells, “I have more chemistry with ‘Ro in Geography class for Christ’s sake! Don’t you see? You totally turned into the new John. You’re his new Best Friend, only with benefits. Come on, Rogue. Is that really what you want?”

“Oh.” Again I blink and stare at her, wondering if it’s true. “Really? Is it *that* bad?”

“Duh! Only, like, totally.”

Now I fold my bare hands in my lap and squirm under her stare. “You don’t understand,” I mumble. 

“Pfft. You want Logan. You’ve always wanted him. It’s okay, you know. I get it. And as it turns out, he wants you too. What’s there to not understand? It’s not, like, logarithm or anything.”

Smiling, I try to find the right words, playing with Bobby’s ring by turning it around on my finger. “Logan… he’s not… he’s not relationship material. There are moments where I think he likes me, you know, more than just in a friendly kinda way. I think I caught him staring at me… like you said, but that was once. Just once. This is just all… stupid. I mean, it’s *Logan* we’re talking about.”

This time Jubes is the one who’s not getting it. “And?”

I stand up and pace though my room. “He doesn’t like me like that. I’ve got him in my head, and he never thought of me like… like I’m a girl. Or a woman. Never. And he needs to be free. He can’t stay around in one place for long. I expect him to pack his stuff almost every day. It scares me, you know?”

Hopping on my desk, she pulls out my chair and plants her feet on it. “You’re so seeing stuff. When was your last touch?”

“At the Statue of Liberty.”

She snorts. “There you go. In case you forgot, you came here looking like some scared and starving puppy. It wasn’t very sexy, chica. And then everything went to hell with stabbing and coma’s and kidnapping and God knows what you guys did together. Do you really think he had time to consider you might be the jailbait he’d been waiting for in just those couple of days?”

Okay, she *does* have a point there.

Still, I shrug and sit down again. “I don’t know.”

She stares at me. Quite fiercely. “And when he came back, there was the Bobster.”

A memory pops up. Something about me telling him he’d had his chance. Did I say that when I was drunk? I can’t remember his answer. 

“He left,” I say, quite defensively, but Jubilee keeps on staring. 

“And he came back. For you. He’d never leave for real as long as you’re here. Sure, he might hate it here, and he’s not the world’s most social person around, but he’s okay if you just let him be. Every soap opera needs a brooding hero, and as long as he plays our shirtless handyman, I’m not gonna complain about his lack of verbal skills, so… uh… what was I saying again?”

Giggling, I say, “Logan leaving and then coming back again.”

“Right. He’s trying, you know. He’s trying to fit in. I’ve seen him play checkers with Jones at night, and he gives me and Kit rides to the mall sometimes. I nag him until he’s about to claw me, but still, he’s dropped us off at least four times. He’s also improved our security system – to keep you safe, of course, and he and Pete work out together. Now *that* is a panty-creaming sight… whoa… but that’s entirely irrelevant. The point is, he’s making *friends*. I’m sure that, unless you’re leaving first, he’s not going anywhere.”

“I don’t know,” I mumble doubtfully, my head spinning. 

Could she be right? Am I too eager to believe all this?

“Are you in love with him?” she asks, and with a frustrated growl I flop back onto my bed. 

“Yes. No! I don’t know! I think… I think I am, but… the expression seems too shallow compared to what I’m feeling. It’s way more than that. Deeper, somehow.”

And why am I telling this to *Jubes* of all people?

The worlds biggest gossip queen whistles. “You’ve got it bad, girl, but it’s okay. All we need is a plan.”

Lifting my head so I can show her one of my new and improved glares, I ask, “Why?”

“I’m gonna help you get him.”

“Oh, no. No way,” I warn her, sitting up again. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be easy. He wants you anyway. You just have to tell the Bobster to move on. That’s gonna be the hard part. I hate to see him hurt, but hey, I know for a fact Syrin has a crush on him. Maybe I can set up a date?”

“What the fuck? Syrin? She’s way too young!”

“Says she who is, like, fifty years younger than Wolvie. If not a hundred.”

She’s got a point. 

“That’s different. Logan doesn’t *look* old.”

Jubilee shrugs casually. “He still looks twice our age, but whatever. Like we care about Syrin and Vanilla Ice. This is about you and Teh Sex.”

Crap. I know Jubes. She has ‘determination’ written all over her. Time for my closing argument. 

“Jubes, I really appreciate you’re trying to help out, I do, but I don’t think this is a good idea. Seriously. Logan and I are friends. I have him in my head. He doesn’t want a relationship. Not with me, not with anyone. If he looks at me like you say he does, it’s because he’s a guy and I’m always close. You don’t know what he’s like. *Really* like. He needs his freedom.”

“Roguey, Roguey, Roguey.” She patronizes me, sadly shaking her head. “The him in your head is seven months old. People change. Even guys like Wolvie. Did you ever consider the fact that he didn’t stay anywhere because he lived in a *trailer*? And he didn’t want a family because he didn’t know what it was like to feel *loved*?”

I skeptically narrow my eyes at her. “Why are you making sense all of a sudden? What did you have for lunch? You’re not Mystique, are you?”

“Girl, if I was that giant smurfette, I’d pretend to be you and had the Wolfmeister between my legs by now. Seriously.”

Again I giggle. “He’d be able to smell the difference, but okay, what makes you an expert in Logan’s psyche all of a sudden?”

She flashes me a conceited grin. “I have classes with him, you know. You’re not the only one who he talks to. Okay, so he’s not pouring out his heart, but he’s the kinda man who talks without words. It’s the art of not listening to the things he *says*, but paying attention to the things he *avoids*. And, by the way, if you ever tell anyone I am less shallow that I appear to be, I’m so gonna deny it.”

She punctuates that statement with one of her trademark bubblegum pops, making me giggle. 

“You know, Jubes, I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

She smiles back and hops from my desk. “Excellent. I’ve spend quite some time to perfect my style. Now, grab your bag and let’s get you an outfit he can’t resist.”

Knowing I can’t reason my way out of this, I meekly shrug and look for my gloves.

* * *

Damn Jubes. I hate her. I really hate her. She’s got me all doubting again. Is it true Logan likes me? I mean, likes me like *that*? That’s ridiculous. He’s hardly over his thing for Jean, and he admitted he really *did* had feelings for her. I’m so not gonna be the substitute. 

Then why am I standing in front of his door to return his tags? It can wait, can’t it? I can hand them back tomorrow during our workout just as well. 

Ugh. I feel stupid. I think I’m going back to my room and--

Logan yanks open the door. “You coming in or what?” 

“Oh! Uh… I… I was… I still got your tags.”

He raises an eyebrow, staring at me with one hand on the doorknob, the other against the door frame. I bet he’s questioning my sanity. Which is what I’m doing as well. 

Swallowing, I back up a little. “I wanted to return them, but then I thought I could also give them back during class. I didn’t mean to bother you so.. sorry. ‘Night!”

I turn around to get out of there, but he’s fast and hooks a few fingers around my collar to pull me back. “You’re here now.”

Good thing I didn’t button up my blouse entirely, otherwise he’d choked me in the process of getting me into his room. The door closes behind me, and he walks over to the chair with his leather jacket. I take the chain from around my wrist and hold it out in front of me. “Okay. So… here.”

He pulls out my green scarf from his inner pocket and walks back, a slightly amused expression on his face. “You know that asshole that ruined my jacket?” he asks, taking back his tags and tugging them into the pocket of his jeans. “He also ruined this.” 

Two pieces of my green, silk scarf dangle from each hand, and I huff, “This was my favorite!”

“Sorry, kid.”

“Ugh. It’s not your fault,” I grumble, snagging one piece and sitting down on his bed to scowl at it. 

This thing had cost me a fortune. It really was my favorite and now it’s too short to - wait a minute. I’ve got an idea. 

“Hey, you know what?” I say, perking up. “You keep that one, and I’ll keep this end. It’ll be like… like a time capsule. Only we’re not gonna burry the parts, but we’ll keep ‘em so they’ll represent some sort of an invisible connection. How’s that?”

The way he stares at me makes me want to crawl under his bed. I have no idea what’s going on in his head, and it always makes me nervous when he’s so unreadable. He probably thinks it’s a silly, childish idea, and I can’t blame him. I already feel sorry for blurting it out like that. I’m about to take it back when he looks at the piece of scarf in his hands. 

“Unmei no akai ito. Well, make that unmei no midori ito.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he says, his head snapping up. “Deal.” He rolls his end around his hand and puts it back into the pocket of his jacket again. “But I owe you a new one.”

I kick out my shoes and turn to my stomach on his bed. I’m here now anyway. Might as well make myself comfortable. 

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t mind anymore. But, come on, what did you just say? Is it something from Madripoor?” 

He walks up to a mini fridge and takes out two cans of beer. “Japanese legend. It’s nothing. Here.” 

Catching the can he throws at me, I can’t help but tease him a bit, even though I’d promised myself not to do this anymore. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, mister, and are you trying to get me drunk while I’m already in your bed this time?”

“It’s a thought,” he replies smirking, sitting down on the windowsill and pulling up one leg. 

“Well, fine. Just don’t expect me to be at my best during tomorrow’s workout.”

“Darlin’, you don’t need that workout anymore once I’m done with you.”

His answer is so unexpected, I seriously choke in a gulp of beer. I start coughing, snort the fluid out of my nose, and drop my can on the bed spread. Logan jumps up and hits me on my back so hard I almost tumble forward, coughing and spluttering all around. 

“Jesus, kid. You okay?”

I puff, gasp and cough still, and Logan rushes to the bathroom to get me a glass of water. 

Between coughing and sipping, I finally manage to croak a hoarse, “Fine. I’m fine.” 

My knees are sinking in a beer-soaked bed spread, and still trying to catch my breath, I fish up the more or less empty can and wipe the spit off my chin and the mascara from my cheeks. My God, I bet I look charming. 

Suddenly the door swings open and Hank rushes in, wearing nothing but dark blue pants and carrying a bag. 

“Pardon my interference,” he announces his bursting in, “I noticed a lady in need for medical attention.”

I want to laugh, but that proves to be quite difficult without breath. “Hank,” I wheeze out between some more coughs, “Fine… drink… went down… wrong way.”

“I’ll say,” Logan mutters, standing next to the bed with his hand still on my shoulder.

Hank instantly relaxes and readjusts his glasses. “Oh. That’s most inconvenient, however not critical.” He walks up to us and puts his bag next to him after squatting in front of me. “Logan, my apologies for the impromptu attendance. Rogue, do you believe it requires further examination?”

I shake my head and take another shaky gulp of air. “No. I’m fine. Really. Thanks. I’ll drop by… tomorrow… if the coughing… doesn’t stop.”

“Very well, my dear.” The blue doctor stands up and takes his bag again, eyeing Logan’s bedspread and my now soaked jeans. He doesn’t comment on it, but I can see he’s amused by the sight. 

That’s one of the things I really like about Hank. He doesn’t whine about the fact Logan and I broke at least three rules here. 

Grinning, I explain between another few coughs, “We were playing ‘dip me in Molson and throw me to the Wolverines’.”

Hank bursts out in a roaring laughter, and even Logan produces a sound very much alike. 

“Bearing in mind certain school regulations, I’m not entirely confident I can leave you two unaccompanied then,” Hank says, smiling and showing his big, white, fangs. 

Logan shows him a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry, bub. I’ll behave.”

“Yeah,” I help him. “It’s not like he’s gonna lick it off of me or anything.”

“Well…,” my best buddy deliberately hedges, and it’s making me blush all the way down to my toes. 

Luckily Hank knows it’s all a game. “Perhaps it suits us all if I didn’t take notice of those last words. Goodnight, Logan. Rogue.”

“’Night, Hank. And thanks!” I call out when he closes the door, smiling at the stupidity of all this. 

As soon as we’re alone again, Logan turns to me, his face all serious. “You know I’d never do anything that’s… wrong, right?”

Finally having the brain to get off of his wet bed, I say absently, “Duh.”

Bummer. Predictable, but still, bummer. 

“Then why are you so nervous around me?”

I stop in my tracks. “Huh?”

He looks away and seems to have an inner struggle for the right words while he rubs the back of his neck. “You’re… tense lately. Or maybe… careful. You’re not scared of me, are you?”

I blink and swallow hard. “No. Why should I?”

Now his unreadable eyes keep me pinned. “Don’t know. I’m asking you.”

Is he serious? I thought he knew. I thought he’d recognized my uneasiness as a silly crush and just ignored it. Is he really that dense? Because if he is, I am not gonna tell him I’ve been acting all weird because I’m madly in love with him and can’t seem to get over it. I’d rather invite ol’ Mags to a trip to Liberty Island.

Clearing my throat, I have to look away, pretending to busy myself with throwing away the can and getting a towel to clean up the mess. 

“I’m not scared,” I start, wiping the sheets and therefore conveniently not having to look at him. “Honestly. I just… I know how you like your privacy, and I know you don’t always like to talk and stuff. I don’t want to be a bother and get on your nerves, but I like to spend time with you. So… yeah, maybe I feel a bit uncomfortable sometimes, but that’s mostly because I’m wondering if you like my company as much as I like yours. It makes me feel insecure.”

There. That’s the truth. Sorta. 

Glancing up, I see him still staring at me. After several seconds of almost deafening silence, he calmly says, “You never bother me.”

It’s such a relief, I can’t stop a goofy grin. “Careful. I might end up on your doorstep every night.”

He looks at the soaked sheets. “I’d better move in with *you*. At least you’ve got a spare bed.”

“Ha! As if. I already have a lot of explaining to do after your stunt in the library.”

He grimaces. “Is that a ‘no’?”

Hmm. He has a point about the bed. He can’t sleep here tonight. 

Pulling off the sheets, I try to keep a stern face when I say, “You can sleep in my room tonight, but moving in is going to be a little difficult, unless you want to share your bed with Bobby in the weekends.”

His eyes have a mischievous twinkle, and I stomach instantly drops. “One night is all I need.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Mornin’.” 

Huh? Logan? What’s he doing - oh, right. I’ve got a guest. I’ve spilled beer all over his bed last night, and so he’s slept in my room. If I ever thought something more than just an innocent sleepover was about to happen, the moment we entered my room proved to be a nice, cold shower. He instantly was all seriousness and concern, making me swear not to wake him in case of a nightmare. Then, he just flopped back when I pointed out his sleeping place and said, ‘Night, kid.’ And that was that.

“Bwah,” I moan groggily, turning my pillow and ducking a little deeper under my duvet. Well, actually, Bobby’s duvet. Logan’s slept in my bed and I’ve slept in Bobby’s. Somehow it didn’t feel right to offer him my boyfriend’s sleeping place, even though the sheets are clean. 

“You always this cheery when you wake up?” he mumbles, his voice all sleepy and hoarse, and cracking an eyelid, I see him sprawled on his back on top of my blankets, still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, just like he crashed down last night. He’s got one arm over his face, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow, the other’s on his stomach. My bed’s too small. He barely fits between the iron bars of the head and foot end.

Still feeling slightly disappointed about it all, I grunt, “Shut up.”

“Apparently.” 

I let out a frustrated growl. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“You have class.”

“Yes, *dad*, I know.”

“Great. Back to 'dad' again,” he mutters, and I allow myself to peek. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing both hands over his face and his hair. Then, he stands up and lazily stretches, producing a noise that suspiciously sounds like a deep, content purr. “Haven’t slept an entire night since… forever.”

I’m trying to ignore a strip of bare skin between his jeans and his shirt, but I can’t help but notice that soft-looking trail of dark hair disappearing behind the denim. I also try to ignore the sight of his belt on the floor between our beds, and his boots neatly tucked under my desk next to their mini-version; mine. I’m usually not this attentive at this hour. Ugh.

“Are you going back to your room again?” I ask.

“Yup. Gonna take a shower before debating house rules with Cyke.”

“My offer still stands. You don’t have to take the blame for your mattress. It’s my fault after all.”

He buckles up and sits down to put on his boots. “Nah. It’s okay.”

“Alright, thanks. Don’t let them catch you on your way out, please.”

There is a short pause before he asks, “Why?” 

“There are enough rumors going on already. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No,” he answers indifferently, getting up after tying the laces. With his hand on the doorknob he pensively stares at me before he asks, “Should I back off?”

It sounds like a casual question, but somehow I still feel there’s a bit of hurt in there. Did I give him the impression I don’t want him around? Because that’s absolutely not the case. 

“No. I just don’t feel like explaining everything.”

He seems to think about it. “So, you’re still up for a test ride with the bike tonight?”

Now I sit up straight, because – cool! “Yeah.”

“Okay. See you at the gym.”

Ugh. I almost forgot. I have my workout today. 

Trying my best puppy eyes, I ask, “Please, cut me some slack?”

He smirks. “Nope. Gonna make you bust your ass off.”

“But… did I tell you how good you look this morning? The casual wrinkled look does all sorts of wonderful things to your figure, and I love the nonchalant bed hair. Very sexy.”

“Flattery’s not gonna work, but same goes for you,” he says, winking, and then he’s out the door, leaving me stupidly grinning and wondering if the beginning of this morning is a promise for the rest of today.

* * *

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch us die?” Kitty glares at Logan while we’ve started our workout by cycling on the exercise bike for about fifteen minutes.

“You got a better idea?” Logan retorts, leaning against one of the many apparatuses the mansion’s gym is equipped with, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Actually, yeah. How about you entertain us by working out yourself?”

I look at my former roommate in shock. 

When did she become this blunt? And to Logan?

Our teacher snorts. “You think it’ll help?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kitty confirms, nodding. “We’re hormonal teens. The epinephrine will work like instant organic amphetamine, providing us all the energy we need. Come on. Do those bicep curls you did last week. That looked good.”

What the hell is she talking about? And how does she know - oh, wait a minute. Logan and Pete usually work out together. I bet Kitty watches her boyfriend lifting weights and stuff. She obviously can check out Logan as well. Damn, I really should hang out here more. 

Logan actually walks up to the dumbbells, picks quite a heavy looking one, and sits at the end of an exercise bench with his legs spread. He braces his elbow against his knee and straightens his arm, his other hand on his opposite leg to support himself. 

“Any more requests?” he asks dryly, moving his forearm only and curling the dumbbell up to shoulder level. 

Kitty grins, pedaling like her life’s depending on it. “Well, if you could do it shirtless? I’m sure Rogue wouldn’t mind either.”

She expectantly looks at me, urging me on to join her little mission. 

“She’s right,” I say hastily. “It’s kinda warm in here. You’ll feel much better without clothes--I mean a shirt. Yeah. Just the shirt.”

Kitty giggles. “But if you feel the inexplicable urge to get rid of the rest, we’re not gonna stop you either.”

Holding his position for a couple of seconds and slowly lowering the dumbbell again, my best buddy wisely doesn’t comment on that one, and while we cycle and stare, he repeats the exercise both left and right handed. 

It’s really hot in here. 

I enviously look at Kitty’s two colored sports bra top. I’m wearing a tight, long sleeved shirt and leather gloves. I’ve got this amazing top with crisscross straps underneath my shirt, but no one is able to see it because it leaves my back more or less entirely bare. Which isn’t good when you have skin that sucks the life out of people. 

I’m really feeling sorry for myself. 

Meanwhile, Logan walks over to the bench press. He lies down, grabs the bar and lifts it several times, exhaling every time he extends his arms. Both Kitty and I are thoroughly entertained, and before we know, our fifteen minute warm-up is over. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Kitty says, stepping away from the bike and straightening her top. 

Logan places the bar back where it belongs. “The day ain’t over yet.”

“Great,” I mutter. “We just started and I’m already sweating like a pig.”

He looks at my clothes while he instructs Kitty what to do on the leg curl, and when she starts her exercise, he walks up to me and asks, “Whatcha got under there?”

“Nothing,” I say, tugging at my shirt. “Well, a top, but it’s mainly a tiny piece of fabric and a bunch of straps. Barely covering anything. God knows why I bought it. It’s way too dangerous.”

He points to an apparatus and I sit down on the leather seat. He programs the resistance and tells me to push the levers away from me in three series of fifteen. 

“Don’t overstretch. Keep your elbows slightly bent and shoulders down. Be right back.”

Kitty hums along with the CD she put on before we started. It seems like she’s actually having a good time. I can’t wait for it to be five o’clock though. I’m sick of this class already. The fact I get to watch Logan working out isn’t even compensating. Blah. I’m sweating and I really don’t want to wear gloves right now. I hope our bike-date will make up for my inconvenience. I think I deserve it.

When Logan returns, he’s changed his black, cotton t-shirt for the white tank top he usually wears underneath the flannel. Throwing the shirt into my lap he orders, “Here, and lose the gloves.”

Oh. That’s so sweet. His shirt is actually still warm, and I never get tired of seeing his broad shoulders and bare arms. This is definitely a win-win.

“Thanks.”

He turns his back to me and points out another exercise to Kitty while I quickly change shirts. It’s way too big, but that’s a good thing. Lots of ventilation that way. I also take off my gloves and tuck them in the waistband of my pants. I smell like him now, and there’s instantly fluttery stuff going on inside my stomach. It makes me wonder, does he like my scent as much as I like his? Because when I offered to change the sheets of my bed last night, he assured me it was fine. I usually change the bed every week, but it was five days ago and my scent must’ve been all over the place. What if he hated it?

My thoughts are interrupted as Logan explains my second exercise, and after those three series of fifteen lifts, he makes us row for fifteen minutes. My God, that’s a real workout. We’re both panting and sweating while our teacher climbs a thing that says ‘hyperextension bench’. He tucks his ankles under the footpads, adjusts the upper pad, and shifts his hips to make sure he can bend at the waist without any restriction.

Kitty gasps. “Oh, my gosh. Did you see that? That was such a pre-coitus shift.”

Not being able to hold back a giggle, I look away from Logan for just a moment and glance over. “What happened to you?” I whisper. “Did you and Jubes have a body swap or something? She’s suddenly making sense and you’re all pervy today.”

She smirks, not keeping her eyes from Logan. “Blame Pete for my excitement. I’ve slept with him and now I see sex everywhere. I’m in heat. Seriously.”

I laugh so hard I almost pull a muscle in my stomach. “Ow, crap!” 

Logan looks up but I call, “I’m fine!”

Kitty laughs too. “Really, it’s embarrassing. We’ve done it eight times this week already. We’re like bunnies. Did you and Bobby went for it in the beginning as well?”

Shaking my head, I whisper, “No, but that’s because of my skin of course. We have to be careful and all. It’s not like we don’t want to, but it’s sorta complicated.”

Although… is it? I think we’ve had sex eight times in about three months. Still, I show my giddy friend a smile and play the older, experienced advisor. “I’m sure it’s normal.”

“You think so? Because, honestly, I never thought I’d be like this. I want to jump him and get it on every time I see him.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?”

She giggles again. “We live in a school, remember? Thank God Jubes hangs out with Dave in town all the time. At least we’ve got my room to ourselves, but other than that there’s hardly any privacy around here.”

“Amen,” I agree, sighing. “Not to mention we’re surrounded by the telepaths, empaths and a man with enhanced senses.”

Kitty blushes. “Shucks, you think he’s heard all this?”

“Could be, but I bet he already knew. I’m sure Pete talks about you, don’t you think?”

We both stare at Logan, but he doesn’t pay attention to either of us. He’s programming two other apparatuses because our fifteen minutes of rowing are almost over. 

“I don’t know,” Kitty says. “I hope not.”

“Oh, come on, Kit. *We* talk.”

She nervously bites her lip. “Yeah, but I don’t like the idea of them doing the same. You know how they are. They don’t really say things… respectfully. They’re always trying to impress each other, and I don’t want to be pictured as some slut.”

I chuckle. “Girl, we’re talking about Pete here. He’s a sweetie. He loves you. Besides, everyone’s always busy gossiping about my relationship with Logan. You don’t have to worry.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She sighs and watches Logan again. “Some of those rumors about you two are really ridiculous though.”

“Whatever,” I say, all casual and mature. “I couldn’t care less.”

But to be honest, I’m not sure which of the options I hate more – being pictured as some cheap bimbo who cheats on her clueless boyfriend with a cradle robbing badass, or being presumably too young, too innocent, and too unavailable to even create a spark of interest of the hottest man around.

* * *

“I still hate running,” Kitty grunts while we’re doing our last workout. “I so deserve a sauna after this. Pete’s waiting already.”

“Sounds nice,” I agree, taking in the flexing muscles in Logan’s arms while he’s doing chin-ups with the help of the pull-up bar. “Never been to a sauna.”

I sure have some fantasies about it though. Oh, boy, do I ever.

“We have two here. They’re private. They’re big enough avoid contact if you don’t want to.” 

“Nah. It’s best to avoid accidents, and I don’t really feel like going by myself.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t be so much fun, I guess.”

We fall silent, and I sorta feel like we’re doing an impression of two hamsters simultaneously running in our wheel. The shirt I’m wearing now smells like Logan’s scent and my sweat. The combination makes me all quivery inside. God, I’m such a *girl*. 

The clocks on our treadmills are counting down, and we’re panting like two asthmatic puppies on a summer’s day. It’s pathetic. I really have to do this more often. Finally, *finally*, we’re done. 

“Yes!” Kitty cries. “The longest twenty minutes of my life.”

“Amen,” I pant, squeezing my side in pain. “Ow, this hurts.”

Logan walks up to us. “Homework. You work out at least twice a week. Friday is one. You’re free to fill in the other.”

“Oh, crap,” I grunt, still holding my side while Kitty slumps down on the floor. “I hardly have time to sleep already.”

“Take a deep breath,” Logan says, eyeing my hand.

I do as I’m told, but when he reaches out to my side, I edge back. “What--”

“Deep breath and trust me.” 

He’s all serious, and when I glance over to Kitty, still sprawled on the floor, she shrugs at me. 

I take another gulp of air, remove my hand, and try not to squirm when he gently pokes two fingers into my belly, just under my ribs. Pushing upwards, he orders, “Now breathe out.”

Blowing out the air, I feel the pain disappear instantly. 

“Wow, thanks. What did just you do?”

“Pushed your liver back into place. Next time try to breathe out when your left foot hits the ground instead of your right.”

“That’ll help? Why?”

“Because I say so.” Turning away from me, he offers his hand to Kitty and pulls her to her feet. “Pete’s waiting.”

“Thanks, I know,” she says with a bright smile. “Gonna hit the sauna. See you, Rogue.”

“Yeah,” I say, watching her almost skip out of the gym. “Have fun!”

“Oh, I will!”

She disappears, and Logan heads for the exit as well. Turning around and walking backwards, he asks, “You still feel like going out, or do you wanna try the sauna?”

I think my liver just dropped down again. 

Quickening my pace to fall into step with him, I blush. “You've heard it all.”

“Yup.”

“Don’t tell her. She’ll be embarrassed.”

He ignores my advice. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, haha,” I scoff, slipping into the locker room. “I don’t think I’ve shaved my legs, and I happen to look lousy in nothing but legwarmers. Now, beat it, mister. See you in sixty.”


	18. Chapter 18

I’m running around in a towel, trying to dry my hair and put on some make-up, while I’m going through my clothes. What to wear on a bike-date in November in New York? It’s freezing cold out there, but I wanna look good as well. I never really paid extra attention to my appearance when I went out with Logan, but now, after everything what Jubes has told me, I’m not sure what to think anymore. 

When we went shopping, she made me buy a pair of impossibly tight jeans. She said Logan was a leg-man because Jean’s legs never ended but she hardly had tits. So, my mission for tonight: accentuate legs, even though I‘ve caught him staring at my boobs at least twice now, even though it was ‘gathering evidence’ or joking around. 

I’ve never really explored his thoughts about what turns him on when he was still fresh in my head. Kinda stupid actually. I had a good reason at the time though. They made me incredibly jealous. Now, I can only guess what he likes. Not that I’m expecting some dramatic change in his behavior, but it can’t hurt to make him aware of the fact that I’ve got legs, right? Or that I’m female in general. So, I think I’m going for the jeans, high heeled boots, a simple white top with a bit of cleavage, and a black, cashmere, long sleeved shrug. Hello legs and feminine curves, where have you been lately?

* * *

“Okay. So… uh… what do I do? I’ve never been on a bike before.”

Logan’s holding out a helmet. “Put this on. Nothing. Just sit tight and hold onto me.”

“Oh, I like that sound if that.” I grin, feeling a bit flirty even though he makes me wear that stupid helmet. Good thing I didn’t do complicated things with my hair.

He starts the bike and waits for me to climb on. 

Fastening the strap, and then putting my gloves back on, I ask, “What about you? Aren’t you gonna wear one?”

“No helmet beats adamantium.”

“Oh, please. I’m sure you’re right, but I don’t want to collect parts of your face off the asphalt, sugar. Besides, isn’t there some law?”

“I’m naughty. I’m also hungry. Hop on.”

I sigh in defeat and swing my leg over the buddy seat. “I wish I could eat as much as you without gaining weight. That would be heaven.”

“You can,” he answers, putting on the leather gloves from his uniform. “As long as you exercise.”

“Ugh. You and your male logic.”

He grabs my arms and secures them around his waist. “That’s logic in general, kid. You ready?”

Oh, yeah. I like this bike-stuff a lot already. I can blatantly squeeze myself against him and maybe even let my hands wander around a bit. Too bad his leather jacket doesn’t let me feel much, but still, thank you, Lord. I knew You were listening to my bedtime prayer last night. 

“Yes, sir. Let’s rock and roll.”

He kicks his bike into gear, and that’s my sign to clutch on even more. 

Woohoo! God bless motorcycles!

* * *

Dinner in a place called ‘Shots & Shooters’. Someone disabled some parts of the neon lights, and now the sign reads ‘hot & hooters.’ Charming. 

Logan wolfed down a huge steak and I had a chicken burger with fries. We’ve moved to sitting at the far corner of bar because there were already people waiting for our seats. Despite the corny name it’s quite a popular place. 

“Guess what?” I say, turning my back to the guy on my left who’s been trying to make eye contact for the last ten minutes. “I’ve made enough flight hours on the simulator. Next pick up I get to be the first pilot.”

“Good. I’d been waiting for more leather.”

Smiling, I poke his shoulder. “Oh, really? Well, you should’ve told me. I’d be happy to parade around just for you.”

He grimaces before taking another sip of his beer. “I’m having enough trouble sleeping already.” 

I’m having a damn good time. He’s in a somewhat playful mood tonight, and it makes me giddy. I can’t stop smiling. My jaw is starting to hurt, not to mention the rest of my body from the workout. 

Rolling my shoulders, I say, “I hope you don’t mean seeing me in leather will cause you more nightmares. By the way, are you going to be around for the Annual Christmas Fundraising Ball next week?”

He nods. “Chuck wants me to.”

“Sounds you’re looking forward to it.”

“I ain’t doing well in crowds.”

“Me neither. I’m still wondering what to wear. It’s always a struggle with these kinda things. Most formal stuff is showing lots of skin.”

“You can always go for the uniform.”

I laugh. “If I’d known you like that outfit that much, I would’ve worn it right now.”

He turns my way and puts his feet on the footrest of my stool. My knees end up between his legs and his eyes roam over my outfit. “Nah. Nothing wrong with this. I think you look good.” Then he glares at something behind me and says, “And I’m not the only one who sees.”

Aha. The ogling guy’s probably still there. So, what’s this? A protective streak or plain jealousy?

“Oh? Do I have a secret admirer?” I ask, going the ignorant route, but Logan’s eyes seem to follow someone to the exit, and I think that certain admirer just left. 

“Not anymore,” he replies dryly, and he calls for another round.

Dinner time is more or less over now. The music’s turned up a notch or two. I hop off my stool and stand between his legs, because my back is screaming for some movement. Swaying my hips to the rhythm of the music, I lean in a little and ask, “Hey, I’ve seen you doing all that Kung Fu Tai Chi kinda stuff. Makes me wonder if you can dance too.”

“Don’t know,” he answers, his left hand on his knee and his right holding his beer. “But I’m not wearing my blue suede shoes tonight.”

“Meaning?”

“We’re not gonna find out.”

“You’re such a macho, Logan. You’re teaching me a lot, I think it’s time for me to show you a thing or two as well.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How about this, you teach me how to dance, I take you to the sauna.”

Gasping in both shock and laughter, I put my hands on his thighs. “No way. That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because! There will be lots of nakedness involved.”

He shrugs. “So I’ll dance naked. We’ll be even.”

I laugh even more. “Stop it, you dork. You know what I mean.”

“Details, kid. Wear a bikini.”

“You’re either drunk or completely nuts. And suicidal. I might be prude in your eyes, but you can’t take the danger of my skin lightly.”

Sighing, he puts his beer on the bar and his hands snake around my waist to pull me closer. One hand ends up on my butt. It’s not a tight grip, but he’s keeping it there and I’m not sure if I can file this position under ‘harmlessly platonic’ anymore. I’m getting really confused by all this. 

“Look,” he says, all serious and patient. “I don’t give a damn about your skin, and the place’s big enough to avoid contact. Try it. Just once. If you don’t want to go with me, I understand. Ask Drake.”

His breath smells like beer, and for some reason I find it extremely exciting. Those hypnotizing, hazel eyes are too sincere to get away with a joke, and so I shrug clumsily and play with a button of his shirt. 

“I don’t know. Bobby can’t sit still long. It’s a fuss already when we go to the movies, and… well, he’s got a healthy dose of fear for my skin. I *am* dangerous, and I can’t control it.”

“Scooter can’t control it either. You don’t see him hiding from the things he wants to do.”

I put my hands back on his thighs. “That’s different. He can control his mutation with a tool. My tools are my clothes. Deliberately being close to my bare skin is like Scott blindly walking around the Mansion without his visor. One mistake and there will be an accident.” 

“We all know he’s a stuck up ass and his control will never slip. I also know you won’t fuck up either. You’re always careful, and I’ll make sure I’ll keep my distance.”

Closing my eyes, I lean in and rest my forehead on his shoulder, tempted to say ‘yes’. He makes it sound easy, but I just can’t share a sauna with Logan. A very *naked* Logan. I’ll be so self-conscious all the time.

Sensing my embarrassment, he caresses my back and asks tenderly, “Hey, I know you want to go. What’s the problem?”

Blushing, I mumble into his jacket, “You’re a boy. I’m a girl. Do the math.”

Now he gently pushes me away and catches my gaze. “Like I said: wear a bikini. Or a towel. Or both. It won’t be any different than a day at the beach.”

“I haven’t been to the beach in ages. I’ve been so drilled about covering up… I’m just not comfortable showing that much skin around someone. Besides, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“I can’t sit and act all normal when you’re naked. It’ll be weird.”

He smiles. “I’ll wear whatever you want. But no fur, okay?”

I can’t help but giggle at that. “Aaarrgh. You always do this to me!”

“That’s a ‘yes’, right?”

“Oh, crap. What the hell. Yes. That’s a ‘yes.’”

He brushes a lock of hair out of my face and actually looks proud of me. “That’s my girl.”

I only lean in again and groan against his shoulder.

* * *

Saturday morning. 

Bobby arrived an hour ago and we went straight for my room. It was my initiative. After last night, I was all worked up and I just needed to release some tension. I might’ve been a little aggressive. I sorta grabbed my boyfriend and made him fuck me. He didn’t have to undress, and I’d been wearing my sex-leggings already so I only had to get rid of my jeans. I didn’t want caresses. I didn’t want careful touches either. I just wanted raw passion. I wanted it rough and fast. I wanted him to grab my hair and do me hard, but when I urged him on, he just sorta looked at me funny. I don’t think he likes that part of me. 

I’m not quite sure what do make of it myself just yet. 

This little experiment of mine also made me realize something else. Bobby doesn’t make a sound when we’re having sex. None. He used to moan a bit, and he once begged me to go on when I was using my mouth, but now, he’s mostly quiet. It’s… weird. He doesn’t talk either. He doesn’t tell me what he wants or what he likes – he just breathes. Which is good, I suppose. I mean, I’m not into necrophilia or anything.

“Bobby?”

“Hmm?”

He’s sorta slumbering after he gritted his teeth, grimaced, and came. Or I *think* he came. According to the condom he did. If it wasn’t for that kinda evidence I wouldn’t have known. 

“Next time, when you come, can you give me a sign?”

He turns his head on the pillow to look at me. “Huh? Why?”

Staring at the ceiling, I say. “I’d like to know. You don’t have to announce it or anything. Just a simple ‘yeah’ or ‘now’ would do.”

He thinks about it for a moment, but then he shrugs. “Sure.”

“Okay. Thanks. Are we gonna have lunch here or at the mall?”

He sits up straight and fumbles with his zipper. “Doesn’t matter. What would you like?”

“Let’s save money and eat here. After that, we can go hunting for Christmas presents all day. Sounds good?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

I watch him walk to the bathroom, and I get rid of the leggings, grab some panties and put on my jeans again. 

Is it bad I crave passion so much, I don’t want to be careful anymore? Is it bad if I’m sick and tired of being the good girl? I just wanted a good, hard fuck. And passionate kisses. I wanted to tear clothes, the better ‘slam me against the wall and take me’ kinda stuff. The stuff I’ll probably never get. Not only because Bobby simply isn’t the kinda guy who’d do those things, but also because my skin prevents all that. 

I sigh.

Sometimes I feel like I’m about to implode with unfulfilled desire. I can’t even take it out on my boyfriend. It’s all on me and my stupid mutation. Would Bobby react differently if I was touchable? Would he have kissed me? Does he miss it? I’ve never really asked him. Maybe I should. 

Is it weird we don’t talk about those things? Is that just us, or is everyone a bit scared to discuss intimate stuff? I can be physically intimate with him, but I can’t always look my boyfriend in the eye and tell him what’s on my mind. Does that mean that emotional vulnerability is more personal than physical closeness? And if so, doesn’t that mean that sex is highly overrated in a relationship? The icing on the cake will be the guts to share all doubts, fears, and dreams as well. 

And then I realize… those are all the things I share with Logan.


	19. Chapter 19

Friday night and I’m having dinner with my boyfriend in the cafeteria while pretty much everyone is out. Bobby came a day early to help out with the Fundraising Ball, and Logan is nowhere to be seen even though this usually is *our* night. It makes me feel bad. Like I prefer Bobby over him. 

Which I do, of course. Bobby’s my boyfriend. 

Right. 

It reminds me of the sauna-stuff. I have to give Bobby a chance before I go with Logan. It’s only fair. 

“Do you wanna go to the sauna with me?” I ask casually, and my boyfriend’s face changes into a grimace. 

“Do I have to?”

That’s his answer for the things he doesn’t like, knowing that I do. 

“No, but I’ve never been to one and I thought I’d like to try it sometime.”

He still looks at me like I’ve asked something *really* creepy. And maybe I have. Maybe going to the sauna with me is like asking a bleeding man to take a swim between hungry white sharks. 

“It’s hot,” he huffs. “And it’s boring. And don’t you think it’s a bit too dangerous? I don’t even think Scott would approve, do you?”

Shrugging, I shove my vegetables over my plate without actually eating hem. “I guess.”

Should I tell him I’m going with Logan if he doesn’t want to go with me? I bet that would change his mind, but only because he doesn’t want me to go with his so called rival. I don’t want to put up with that. 

We sit in silence for a while, but then I glance up again. “So… you don’t mind if I go without you?”

“Of course not. John and I went once, but he almost set the place on fire. I really didn’t feel like running into the hallway in my bare ass, so I quit early. I used his behavior as an excuse, but I didn’t like it anyway. It’s really hot, and there is absolutely nothing to do.”

“It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

“Well, it made me restless, but you just go, okay? I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“Okay.”

Can we say ‘sneaky bitch’ here? I never said I was going alone, but I *had* to give him a chance. If he ever finds out I went with Logan, there will be trouble. Question is, will it be worth it?

* * *

The Annual Christmas Fundraising Ball. You’d think that would mean something like a party. Drinks, food, some dancing, small talk, you know, fun stuff. But nooooo. We are X-Men, and so we make it a Mission. A Mission with a capital ‘M’, because there might be Bad Guys out there who want to know more about our school for their Evil Plans. 

Pfft. Excuse my lack of enthusiasm for conspiracy theories. If the Bad Guys want to come in, we all know they won’t be taking the trouble to disguise themselves, looking like middle-aged, overweight penguins. They’ll simply burst in through front door with tranquilizer guns. And I happen to speak from experience here. 

But, hey, who am I to talk? I’m simply a Junior X-Man. Woman. Whatever. 

“Hey, Rogue. All set?”

“What?” I look up from my position at the wardrobe, waiting for the first guests to arrive. 

Kitty grins, holding a tray with snacks. “You were miles away. I asked if you and Bobby are all set.”

“Oh. Yeah. Bobby’s sneaking in some of the food and drinks so we’re not gonna starve between all mink coats. The professor said we weren’t allowed to eat in here, but no way are we gonna let all those snacks pass. Are you guys ready?”

“Yep. This is the last plate. I can leave it with you if you want. By the way, you look fabulous.”

I look down on my outfit. “You don’t think it’s too… naked?”

“Are you crazy? It’s amazing!”

I’m wearing a black, woman’s suit with a very elegant, yet sexy portrait collar. Underneath I have this incredible black body with integrated push-up bra, and it has a little sparkling crystal between my breasts. It’s quite a spectacular cleavage without looking sleazy. I hope. I’m also wearing black leather gloves and my high-heeled boots, so unless someone wants to touch my collarbones or feels like sticking his or her hand between my boobs to steel my gem, everyone is safe. 

‘Ro’s picked my outfit, and Jubes did my hair. It’s up in a classic French twist with my white streaks loosely around my face. I have to give them credit, I really feel pretty and elegant tonight, and it’s all very safe. 

Kitty looks around and shuffles a bit closer before whispering, “You think all this hoo-ha is really necessary?”

I crunch my nose. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but the professor thinks there is a chance we might get uninvited guests. Let’s just hope he’s wrong.”

“Amen. I don’t want Pete to get hurt. He’s a doorman after all. By the way, doesn’t he look sexy in a tux?”

I turn around to follow her awestruck gaze, but instead of ogling her boyfriend, my eyes set on another man. Logan. He’s talking to Pete and he hands him his communication earpiece. 

“He sure does,” I answer, mesmerized by how well that tailor-made suits him. 

When both men take off their jackets to install the electronic equipment, their shoulder holsters become visible. Kitty and I both sigh wistfully. 

“We’ve ended up in a James Bond movie,” my former roommate whispers, almost drooling over the exquisite hors-d’oeuvres, and I can’t answer because I’m too busy drinking in Logan’s broad shoulders, accentuated by the leather straps of the rig, his small hips, and those long, long legs. My God, I’ve gotta thank Charles’ tailor. The man is truly an artist. 

“Kitty? Rogue? Everything ready?”

“Crap,” I mutter, almost jumping out of my skin by the sound of Scott’s voice. “Let’s get this show on the road, Kit. We don’t want to be accused of unprofessional behavior. Or plain horniness for that matter.”

Giggling, Kitty turns around and answers in her sweetest voice, “Yes, Scott. Last plate.”

Scott smiles back and heads for Pete and Logan at the door. Kitty makes her way to the table where Hank and Kurt are strategically placed to get a chance to ambush the guests for a talk. Everyone wants to eat, so they have to get past the blue mutants first. It’s one of Charles’ crafty little plans to show our important guests even *blue* mutants are just ordinarily people, just like them. 

Kitty and Jubes will be loitering near the temporary bar, Scott and Logan will circle around, Storm and Charles will be welcoming our guests, and Bobby and I are all set in the wardrobe department. 

‘Embrace them with your Southern hospitality,’ the Professor had said, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. ‘A good start is half the battle.’

Ugh. Southern hospitality, my ass, and it’s supposed to be a party, not a battle. I didn’t tell him that, of course. Although I think I was projecting loud and clear. Damn telepaths. 

Anyway, let’s just try to be all charm and grace and hope I have a million dollar smile. A couple of hundred thousand is fine as well. We need charity to finance the fancy stuff around here. Unfortunately, none of us is blessed with the gift of producing little green notes out of thin air. Now *that* would be a precious addition to our team. If such a mutation exists, you can bet your sorry ass I’m gonna touch the poor sucker. Heh. 

Meanwhile, Logan and Pete are properly dressed again, and Logan gives his pupil a reassuring pat on the shoulder while Scott installs the equipment as well. 

I like seeing Logan in this role. I like seeing him around people. Interacting with them. It makes me happy for some odd reason.

He sees me watching, and he looks around before heading my way. “Nervous?” he asks, tugging at his collar, and I shake my head. 

“No. Because *you* are here,” I tell him honestly, reaching out and straightening his bow tie. 

He looks at me funny. Skeptically. 

I let my gloved hands trail over his chest, down to his sides. “And I noticed a new toy. You sure have a big… gun, sugar.”

Now he smirks. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Oh, my,” I say, batting my lashes, “So, size *does* matter?”

He checks out my cleavage and returns lightheartedly, “Goes both ways.”

It makes me giggle. “It’s just a very small crystal.”

“You’ve got other impressive charms, kid.”

Bursting into laughter, I cover my exposed skin with my hand. “You’re all peachy tonight. Happy to play secret agent?”

He shrugs. “It’s familiar territory. Listen, you be careful, okay? Drake’s armed. I made sure he knows how to use it, so stay with him if we’re gonna play ball.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, saluting him. “You be careful too. I don’t wanna find any bullet holes in that suit, you hear me?”

He looks at me one more time and shows me a faint, but honest smile. “I’ll try.”

* * *

The Fundraising ball is over, and Jubes flops back onto the couch in the rec room, next to Kitty and Pete. 

“Excuse me, smelly feet alert!” She kicks off her shoes, and one lands on the table, the other’s flying right over her head and ends up behind the sofa. 

Kitty ducks. “Eew!”

“Sorry, but these heels were almost killing me. You don’t want me to die because of my sense of style, now do you?”

I sit down next to Bobby. My back aches from standing all night, but I sure had fun. Bobby and I ate so many snacks, I’m a bit nauseous, and at one point some rich bitch was flirting with my boyfriend, while I was hiding behind a hideous fur coat trying not to giggle. Bobby felt really uncomfortable, and so I made sure I kept teasing him all night. It’s only fair, because he’s been teasing me by telling me he’s bought me a ‘damn cool’ Christmas present, but he doesn’t want to give me any hints. 

I guess the Ball was a success though. Apart from a minor incident just outside the gate, everything went according to plan. The Professor didn’t tell us what the incident was all about, so I glanced over to Logan but he kept a stoic expression and ignored me. I couldn’t find any evidence of a fight, but I’m gonna ask him as soon as I get a chance. 

I really, really hate secrets.

* * *

Ugh. I can’t sleep. Too many snacks, I think. 

Bobby’s sleeping peacefully, and I’ve been watching him for a while. When we’re going to live together, are we going to have separate beds as well? Maybe even separate rooms? I don’t like that idea, but maybe it’s for the best. And talking about separate rooms, spending the holidays with the future family-in-law is quite something. I’m a bit scared. I’m not really sure whether I feel this way because it’ll be a big step in our relationship, or because I expect his parents to do something creepy again. 

Throwing away the covers, I get up and quietly I change into sweatpants, a hooded sweater and socks. I think I’m going to get me a hot cup of tea. Charles’s ‘Comfort Tea’ might calm both my brain and my stomach. It’s worth a try. 

I quietly make my way downstairs and walk past the living room, Jones’ nightly quarters. 

“If you’re looking for Logan,” he says without taking his eyes of the TV, “he’s in the library.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks for telling me. You want something from the kitchen?”

He shakes his head and pushes his glasses back up. “No. I’m good. I think you should talk to him.”

I was almost on my way again, but now I turn around. “Why?”

He looks at me with that too serious expression of his. “I think he doesn’t feel very well.”

Logan not feeling very well? Is there something wrong with his healing, or is he just his grumpy ol’ self again?

I show Jones a smile and assure him, “I’ll drop by later and see if he wants some company, okay?”

Nodding, his attention is back to the TV again. “Okay.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, I’m tiptoeing with my tea through the hallway until I reach the library. I’m glad this place gets a lot of preventive maintenance, so none of the doors even give so much as a squeak. 

“Logan?”

“Here.”

The sound of his voice comes from the darkest corner, and when I close the door and get used to the darkness, I see him slumped in a chair, holding a whisky tumbler filled with amber liquid and some ice cubes. His white dress shirt is partly unbuttoned, the tie is gone. His jacket is carelessly draped over one of the arm rests, and he’s still wearing the shoulder holster but the gun lies on top of his jacket. 

“Jones was worried about you,” I inform him quietly. “Care for some company?” 

I wait at the door, but it takes a while for him to answer. 

“I’m fine. Trouble sleeping?”

I don’t bother to turn on the lights and walk over to a fluffy fauteuil across from him. Carefully placing my mug on the side table before sitting down, I return, “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t say anything either. We just sit here, surrounded by a comfortable, silent darkness. It’s kinda nice, even though I keep thinking about the ‘minor incident outside’. 

Nursing the mug between my hands and pulling up my legs, I ask, “Does your lack of sleep have something to do with what happened today?”

“No.”

“Wanna tell what it was all about?”

“No.”

So much for satisfying my curiosity. 

“Why not?”

“Because.”

I sigh. “When are you going to trust me? It’s not good to keep all your thoughts and emotions bottled up, you know.”

Even though I can’t see his eyes, I’m pretty sure he’s scanning me. Maybe it’s me, but the comfortable silence now suddenly feels tense. The sound of ice cubes slowly circling in his tumbler is my only answer, but I don’t give in and keep my cool while I stare straight back at him. 

Finally, after a good minute, the circling stops, and he takes a sip from his liqueur. I can hear him swallow and taking a deep breath. “I’m going away for a few months.”

Okay. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect this at all. I think my heart just dropped into my stomach and now I’m nauseous again. 

“Why? When?”

“Gotta check something in Japan. I’ll leave once you’re back from your sleepover.”

Trying to catch his gaze, I ask, “Something important?”

“Maybe.”

I know I have to let him go, but I don’t want to. A sudden desperation pops up, and I hear myself saying, “You know, about spending the holidays at Bobby’s? It’s quite something. It takes the relationship to a whole new level.”

His eyes are hidden in the dark and he sounds tired. “So?”

“So… I could use some advice here. Once I’ve met his family, it’s gonna be really serious and, well, I want your honest opinion. Do you think I should go?”

This is my pathetic attempt to give him another chance. Is he even aware? And if so, will he take it, or am I fooling myself again?

Logan doesn’t play by my rules, as usual. He avoids my question. “It’s your life, Marie.”

“True, but I could use some guidance here. I’m not sure if this is what I want. And don’t come up with that ‘listen to your gut’ crap. I want to know what *you* think.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you want what’s best for me.”

“Do I?”

I narrow my eyes at him and try to understand what he’s saying. 

What’s all this? He looks so… troubled. Even more than usual. Sometimes I forget he’s got a reason for his behavior. He’s usually so strong. So confident. I tend to forget he’s just a human being, just as emotionally vulnerable as the rest of us. He just manages to hide it better. 

“You’re talking in riddles, sugar,” I inform him, keeping my tone light and somewhat teasing, but the truth is… he’s scaring me a little. He’s suddenly intimidating. It’s almost like he’s on a whole different level than I am, and he’s not meeting me halfway this time. It’s making me feel young and rather stupid.

Another silence follows, and for some unknown reason I’m on the verge of tears. Willing them back and drinking the rest of my tea, I try again. 

“So? Come on, Logan. Help me out here. Do you think I should I go?”

It seems like it’s taking him forever to answer, but then he says quietly, “Yeah. I think you should.”

It’s a slap to my face.


	20. Chapter 20

“You hurt her, I’ll break your neck.”

Logan glares at Bobby’s father with a vicious glint in his eyes. I’m not sure if I should cringe in embarrassment or glare along. They are my future family, but I also still don’t trust them even though Bobby keeps repeating his parents were sorry about everything that’s happened. 

Logan insisted on personally dropping me off at the Drake’s. I tried to make him change his mind, but he can be so damn stubborn. Bobby and I almost had a fight over it, but to be honest, I also kind of like it. Sure, right now I’m feeling like a kid who’s about to have a first play date while ‘daddy’ is a bit overprotective, but it also makes me feel secure. Bobby’s got his family, and I’ve got mine. I feel a lot stronger knowing I’m not alone. 

Bobby’s dad is visibly shaken, but he holds up pretty well. “Mr. Logan, I don’t appreciate these kinds of threats on my own front porch.”

“I didn’t appreciate the headache on your front porch either,” Logan pronounces calmly with a low, controlled voice. “And I also don’t appreciate parents who walk out on their kids. So listen to me, bub, you’re gonna play happy little family this week, or else it won’t be Santa coming through the chimney. You got that?”

Bobby glances from his father to Logan and back again. He looks painfully uncomfortable. I pretty much feel the same, and yet, I *do* have certain ‘serves them right’ kinda feeling. 

“Mr. Logan, we’re truly sorry about everything that’s happened,” Bobby’s mother tries to reason with a bad tempered Wolverine. “I can understand your concern for your… uh… pupil, but I can assure you that we love both our sons, and their friends are always welcome.”

Logan silently looks from Mrs. Drake to Mr. Drake, and then his piercing stare fixates on my boyfriend. 

“You remember our little talk?”

Huh? Talk? What talk? What’s this all about?

Bobby nods frantically. “Yes.”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Logan turns to me, and his expression immediately softens. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be around.”

I show him a grateful smile, and without really thinking, I put my arms around his waist. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but thanks.”

He returns my hug with a small squeeze, but then he lets go and his eyes snap up to Ronny, who’s looking at us from his bedroom window. “Watch out for that one.” 

“I will,” I promise as he climbs onto the bike. 

One quick glower, and then he takes off, and I’m all alone with the Drakes, white picket fence and all.

* * *

It’s Christmas morning and I’m all alone in the guest’s room while everyone is still asleep. I’m calling Logan. 

He picks up really fast. “Trouble?”

“No. I just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas,” I say quietly, smiling at his concern. “So… Merry Christmas. Sorry if I woke you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Merry Christmas. How’s it going?”

“Good. The first few hours were kinda awkward, but now we’re peachy. I think. I’m still sort of waiting for the cops to show up once in a while.”

There’s a quiet chuckle on the other side. “The little punk giving you a hard time?”

“Nope. Ronny’s staying in his room mostly. It’s actually… kind of nice here. Sort of… normal.”

There’s a small pause before he answers. “Good.”

I pull up the blankets. “So… I’m curious… what kind of talk did you and Bobby have?”

Again, it stays quiet on the other side for a second too long. “Just a little man to man advice.”

“Advice… on what?” 

“Life.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re being secretive again, are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll let you off the hook for now. You know what the Drake’s bought me?”

“One way ticket to the new Auschwitz?”

Despite the serious undertone, I giggle anyway. “No, stupid. They’re really trying to be nice. Seriously.”

“Right. And I’m running for President,” he says ironically. 

I roll my eyes. “So far they’re really okay. They’ve bought me a TV. Can you believe it? Bobby’s mom, she insists I call her Maddy, she said she knew it wouldn’t make up for all the things that happened, but she hoped it would be a little band aid for all the caused pain.”

“I get a bullet and you get a TV. Makes sense.”

“Yeah. It’s kinda weird, huh? But you know what? You can watch hockey in my room from now on.”

“Fair enough. Worth a bullet or two.”

He can make me smile and laugh so easily. I love his dry sense of humor. Too bad he doesn’t display this side of him more often. “Okay. It’s a shitty deal, I know. Still, if you want a more private place to watch something, you know where to find my room, okay? By the way, Bobby wants to spend the weekend back home, so we might be leaving early.”

“Okay. That means I can leave early too.” 

“Don’t sneak out. I got you a present and I want a proper goodbye, you hear me?”

There is a smile in his voice when he answers, “Or else?”

“Or else… or else… I’m gonna wreck your bike.”

“Okay. You got me. I’ll stay put.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I got you something as well.”

“Oh? Any hints?”

“Nope.”

Ugh. I really really *really* hate secrets.

“Fine. I think someone’s awake now. Gotta go. Soon you soon?”

“Yep. Hang in there, kid.”

* * *

Four days later I’m standing in front of Logan’s door with a wrapped Christmas present behind my back. I’ve been home for a few hours, and I know he is too. I saw his bike in the garage while I was getting my stuff from the car, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk yet. 

Knocking, I call out, “Logan?”

“Yeah.”

I peek in and see him packing his stuff once again. “Hey. I’m back.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking quite sardonically. “And in one piece.”

Smiling, I say, “Told you. They weren’t so bad after all. I actually had a good time.”

The look on his face tells me he’s not very convinced, but he wisely doesn’t say anything. 

“When are you leaving?” I ask, taking a few steps closer and still keeping the package out of sight. 

“Tonight.”

“What’s the rush? You just got home.”

“I want to get this over with.”

“What is it exactly that you’re gonna do?”

“I’m gonna try and find someone. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Then why are you going? Maybe… maybe it’s something you’d rather not want to know.”

“It’s… an urge.”

“Alright,” I say, already glad he’s telling me at least *something*. “I won’t bother you any longer. I just wanted to give you your present.”

He stops stuffing clothes into the bag. Taking the package, he jerks his head to his desk. “Yours are over there. Don’t open them until I’m gone.”

I rush to two neatly wrapped boxes. “Why?”

“The mushy stuff.”

I laugh, remembering our conversation when he gave me the sheet music for my birthday. “Okay. Then you do the same with mine. I have to warn you, I’ll probably go mushy on you when you’re back again.”

“Nah. You’ve forgotten about me by the time I’ll be back.”

I can never tell what he means with comments like those. One part tells me he wants to be reassured he’s important to me, but another part laughs ironically about the Wolverine needing me to care. He usually launches his words with such a casual confidence, but lately, I can’t help but question their real meaning. I suddenly want to reach out and cradle him in a comforting hug, but that’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s Logan, not a child with a sore knee. 

Trying not to get all melodramatic, I ask, “How long will you be gone then?”

“Months.”

“That’s, what? Two? Three? Ten?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Even if you’d be gone for ten years, I’d never forget you. Ever.”

He stops packing again and looks up to seek my eyes. 

Yes, there it is. A glint of… insecurity? Doubt? Doesn’t he *know* how much he means to me? It should be obvious, right?

He doesn’t give me a chance to come up with an answer, he turns back to his meager belongings and stuffs the last few remaining items in his pack. A map, a notebook, a pen. 

“Okay,” I say, uncomfortably hopping from one foot to another. “So… uh… goodbye?”

Again he stops and sighs tiredly. Extending an arm, he gently orders, “Come here.”

I instantly drop his presents back at his desk and almost fly into his arms. “I’m gonna miss you,” I say, pressing myself against the full length if his body, my cheek firmly against his chest. 

“Stay outta trouble, and take care of these for me.”

Keeping one arm locked around my shoulders, he puts his other hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the tags. 

I hold up my hand, and when he lowers the chain, I say, “I will. Careful, okay? Don’t try and get yourself killed by the Japanese mob or anything. You still have to teach me how to ride a bike, you owe me a dance and a visit to the sauna.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Releasing me from his one-arm embrace, he returns, “I know. I’m not gonna die before I’ve seen you naked.”

It makes me giggle, and I step back to avoid an uncomfortable situation. Picking up the presents he bought me, I wink. “Oh, that means you’re in for a *very* extended period of time, mister.” I turn around, and just when I’m about to leave the room, he calls me back. 

“Marie?”

I look over my shoulder and catch him staring at me with such an open, honest expression, I’m completely enthralled by the mixture of emotions I see in those almost childlike eyes.

Holding up his present, he simply says, “Thanks.”

With cheeks flushed and a wild pounding heart, I show him a warm smile before I close the door and flee back to the relative safety of my room. 

The man’s a goddamn walking contradiction.

* * *

Four weeks since Logan left. 

When I got to my room that night, I suddenly felt so sad, I locked myself in and had a good cry while I wrapped the tags around my wrist. I put away the presents because I knew Bobby would be up any minute, and I wanted to open them in private. 

Bobby showed up indeed, and he noticed something was wrong. I told him I just felt sad and didn’t give him a specific reason. He didn’t ask, but he held me the rest of the evening and I was somewhat comforted by his embrace. I kept the tags hidden under my glove and refused to feel guilty about it. 

That Sunday night, Bobby went back to Boston and I sat down on my bed with both packages. One was a fairly square box, the other a flat, small rectangle. In my girlish fantasies during classes I’d daydreamed of an alternative universe where Bobby simply didn’t exist and Logan was the mushy kind who gave me a wedding ring, begging me to be his wife and elope if the others didn’t approve. It was silly, and I always hoped there weren’t any telepaths prying, but still, it was better than geometry. 

Neither of the packages could pass for a jewelry box though. Those thoughts were eliminated pretty damn fast, and as I opened the big box with trembling fingers, I found a note inside, saying: _'I still owe you one.’_

I smiled. 

Inside was high quality silk green scarf. The color was slightly darker than my old one, but that made it even more beautiful. It was obviously very expensive. More expensive than the one I had. Logan must’ve spent a small fortune on just a scarf I had to whine about. 

I ripped the paper of the other present, and it turned out to be a card from the motorcycle store. On the back, it said:

_’Take this card to the store. They’ll help you pick what you need. Lessons start when I’m back._

_Merry Christmas,  
L.’_

I wrapped the scarf around my neck and felt miserable the rest of the evening, missing my best friend already even though he was hardly gone. 

He’s called me New Year’s Eve to wish me happy New Year. He told me he’d be incommunicado for a while. He also said he liked the gift I had bought him. Leather gloves in the same color as his jacket, so he doesn’t have to use his uniform gloves anymore when he takes the bike. I told him I’d picked a wonderful leather outfit with boots, gloves and a helmet. I thanked him for everything, but he brushed it away like it was nothing. It was a bad connection and we had to end quite suddenly. I haven’t heard from his since. 

I’m sure he’ll be okay. I’ve asked the Professor to keep an eye on him with Cerebro. I don’t need to know what he’s doing, but I just want to make sure he’s alive and healthy. I wish I could say the same about me though. I’ve got the flu and I really feel like shit. I’ve got a running nose and a sore throat and a headache, and everything is just blah. Stupid winter. It’s cold, it’s lonely, and I’m feeling very sorry for myself. 

These last few days in bed made me think about a lot of things though. I decided I really had to find a way to quit loving him so damn much. It’s unhealthy. It’s almost a year, and I can’t go on like this. I don’t *want* to go on like this. I can’t spend the rest of my life being torn between two men. It’s not right, and it’s not fair to Bobby. 

The week with Bobby’s family almost made me believe I have a chance to live a normal life again. A normal house. A normal job. As dysfunctional as they may be, they’re still a family. Bobby and I talked about going on a holiday this summer, and his parents were willing to pay for it. Just like that. I feel like I’m betraying not only my boyfriend, but his family as well if I’m going to keep reaching out to Logan. They *really* tried to make me feel at home, and they are my future. Logan’s just a friend. 

So, I‘ve been listening to all sorts of sad love songs, and I’ve been reading sad poems. I even wrote a few crappy ones myself, just to get it over with. This time it’s gonna work. This time I will get rid of all my stupid expectations and unrealistic hope. I even made it clear to Jubes to not talk about Logan’s feelings for me, other than something paternal or fraternal or whatever. Because that’s what it is. He wouldn’t have told me to spend that week with Bobby’s family if his feeling are different. He wouldn’t have let me go that easily. 

I’m determined to make this work. I can get over him. I really can.


	21. Chapter 21

“How’re you feeling, pretty?”

Bobby’s being all sweet. I told him not to come over this weekend because I wouldn’t be much fun, but he wanted to anyway. He took really good care of me yesterday. He even brought a DVD player and my favorite bonbons. 

“Like crap,” I mutter, trying to breathe through my nose but failing miserably. “And I wish I could just taste something because I want to enjoy my chocolate. And I really want a hug.”

I’ve been bitching all the time, but he hasn’t lost his patience yet. He’s made me ice sculptures. Anything I requested. Some sculptures turned out really weird, and we’ve had a few good laughs, but I have to admit he’s made a very impressive ice-dildo. Yeah, so we’re acting like a bunch of silly teens. Sue us. 

He’s climbing into bed with me. “Try to get some more sleep. I’ll be here, okay?”

“Yeah,” I sulk, resting my head on his chest. “You’re gonna take care of me, right?”

“Of course. You’re my girl.”

Smiling, I close my eyes and everything seems to be so *normal* for once.

* * *

“How do you think Jean looked when they found her?” I ask Jubes and Kitty when we walk past the memorial garden to get to the boathouse. It’s my first day out after spending a week in my bedroom, and I really needed some fresh air. 

“Eeew,” Kitty says, “not you too!”

Jubes laughs. “That’s what I asked during the burial. Maybe she was all swollen and--”

“Jubes!” Kitty interrupts her. “That’s gross!”

I shrug. “Well, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Swollen and greenish. And maybe she’s lost some limbs.”

“You two are sick,” Kitty declares in a firm tone of voice. 

Jubes ignores her. “You know, I’ve asked Wolvie.”

Widening my eyes, I cry out, “You did *not!*”

“Sure, I did,” she replies, not in the least embarrassed. “He’s the one who’s found her.”

“Well, yeah, but… but…,” I stammer, not really sure how to form the words to express my shock. 

“Hey, I had to distract him. He was almost choking me in combat class, and since I wasn’t supposed to use my mutation, I had to use my second best weapon.”

Kitty rolls here eyes. “Your delicate insensitivity?”

Jubes glares at her. “No, silly cow. My ingenuity.”

Despite the fact it’s not a very funny subject, I can’t help but smile about their banter. Some things never change around here. 

“So… what did he say?” I ask between their bitching. 

“He almost crushed my windpipe and said I was yapping too much. Yapping. Can you believe that? I was just trying to make conversation. Geez.”

Kitty huffs. “You making conversation with someone who is trying to keep his anger in check so he does *not* break your neck isn’t the best move, girl. Especially when you talk about a certain dead person he had the hots for.”

“Whatever,” her roommate answers. “I wanted to catch him off guard.”

“Did it work?” I ask, and Jubes smirks. 

“Oh, yeah. Managed to kick him in the nuts.”

Both Kitty and I stand still. “What?!”

Jubes turns around and has innocence written all over, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. He said ‘anything goes.’ What was I supposed to do? Die without even having the chance of wearing those fabulous new boots I’d bought? Please! And, by the way, after a moment in which I thought it was time for a serious prayer and a confession he actually gave me compliment. So, there you go.” She smugly turns around and continues heading for the boat house. 

Kitty and I exchange confused looks and then catch up again.

“By the way,” Jubes continues, “did he call yet?”

I sigh. “No. It’s been almost four weeks.”

“But it’s not like you’re counting or anything.”

It makes Kitty giggle, but she tries to cover it up by coughing.

I almost growl at both of them. “It’s easy to remember the date when the last call was on the first of January.”

“Geez, chica. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m just joking. I miss that sexy ass too, you know. He can choke me any time as long as it means I can grab certain body parts in the heat of the battle.”

Shaking my head, I mutter, “You’re such a pervert, Jubes.”

“You’re so jealous.”

Kitty suddenly changes the subject. “Hey, isn’t it almost Bobby’s birthday? What did you get him?”

Glad to go along, I answer, “It’s next week. A power drill.” 

Jubes whistles. “Nothing expresses your undying love better than a power drill.”

Again I almost growl. “It’s what he requested.”

“Yeah,” Kitty says, sighing, “Guys always want practical stuff. Pete wanted an easel.”

“So he doesn’t strain his back while he’s painting you naked,” Jubilee teases, grinning.

Before they set off in another fight, I ask, “Hey, how’re you and Dave doing? You never talk about him anymore.” 

Jubes’ face instantly changes into a dark cloud. “That’s because we broke up.”

Kitty and I fire all sorts of questions. 

“Huh?”

“Why?”

“Did he dump you?”

“When?”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Did you tell him you’re a mutant?”

Jubes holds up her hands. “Whoa! *I* broke up. Things got a bit tense since… since the ball. I couldn’t bring him here, so I always had to go to his place. It got… complicated, okay? I just didn’t feel like telling anyone yet, because… maybe I’ve got commitment issues or something.”

Again Kitty and I exchange a look. Jubilee never really wanted to talk about her time at Stryker’s. Maybe it’s bothering her more than she wants to admit? She doesn’t seem to trust humans anymore. 

“That sucks,” I tell her, and Kitty nods, giving her roommate a good squeeze. 

“Amen.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I should make a move at Scott. He’s hot. He’s available. He’s not afraid to go serious. What do you think?”

Kitty laughs. “Good luck, but I don’t think he’s ready yet.”

Jubes bites her lip. “Logan?”

I want to protest, but I manage to swallow down the word ‘mine’ because I’m over him. For real this time. I really am.

While Kitty and Jubes giggle about the possibilities of being Logan’s girlfriend, I zoom out and fumble with my new green scarf, trying to dig up the words he’d said when I gave him the other half of my old one. I’ve tried looking it up on the internet, but so far I’m out of luck. Nothing really useful about green scarves in Japanese legends. It’s frustrating. 

“Hey, Jubes,” I interrupt their fantasies, “You’re into Anime and stuff, right?”

Instantly her head perks up. “Yep. Why?”

“Do you know anything about the use of scarves? Or two people having a piece of it?”

She frowns. “No. Not really.”

“Hmm. Okay. Never mind. I’ll find out one way or the other.”

“Oh, no,” she insists. “Now you’ve got me curious. Come on, spill the beans.”

Crap. I should’ve known. 

“It’s nothing, really. I just saw this thing on TV about two people having the end of a scarf, and at one point the guy said something in Japanese. I couldn’t understand what it was all about, but later I found out it was something from a Japanese legend. Since I always wear scarves, I just… I was interested. You know.” I shrug for good measure and hope she buys it.

“Hmm.” She scrunches her nose and seems to think. “They use lots of symbolic stuff. What kinda color?”

“Green. Sorta like the one I’m wearing now.”

“Nope. Usually symbolic stuff is red. Like nosebleeds, or a red string.”

By now we’re at the boathouse, and we all sit down on one of the benches to look over the lake. 

Kitty asks, “Nosebleeds? That’s symbolic for what? A male’s period? And red string as in kabbalah?”

Jubilee laughs. “Nosebleeds happen when a guy’s in lust. I’m glad that doesn’t happen in real life. Things could get messy around here. And I think the kabbalah string is more of a charm to keep the ‘Evil Eye’ away. In anime it’s a symbol for people who are connected to each other. Like soul mates or something. It’s called the ‘Red String of Fate.’”

“Oh, that’s so romantic,” Kitty gushes. “You think something like that exists?”

I shrug and stare over the lake. “Beats me. If it does, I think my soul mate cut our string and is lost somewhere.”

Jubilee nods. “Yeah. Like, in Japan.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Dream on, girl.”

* * *

February rolls in and still no sign of life from Logan. There’s lots of homework, and I more or less bury myself in my books and papers to keep myself from dwelling too much. And Logan isn’t the only subject on my mind. After the week at Bobby’s place, I sometimes think what it would be like if my parents would accept me again. 

They didn’t kick me out like most parents did. I ran. I did it because they couldn’t deal with it. I saw what it meant to them, having a mutant daughter. They were ashamed and humiliated. They didn’t want to talk about it. They thought it would go away if they prayed often enough and gave our church a big donation. At one point they even thought that I was possessed by the devil, taking people’s souls by touching them. It was their desperate attempt to see me cured, and for a while I tried to believe them. 

Of course, no holy water could help me. No prayers, and no sacrifices or donations were enough. I was a mutant. A burden. Our perfect house was stained. It was like the tenth plague had passed by and they’d forgotten to wipe blood on the door to keep the Angel of Death away from our perfect little lives. 

It seems so long ago. 

I was always their little girl. Happy, innocent Marie. When I think about it now, I wonder if I tried to be good because I feared losing the love of God, or because I feared losing theirs. Shouldn’t their love be as unconditional as God’s?

* * *

Second week of March. I just got an email: 

_‘Hey, kid,_

_Chuck told me you’re worried. Don’t. I’m fine. Wanted to call you, but it’s in the middle of the night over there. Won’t be in civilization long enough to wait for you to get your lazy ass out of bed._

_Found out a few things. I’ll tell you when I’m back. Might take a few more weeks._

_L.’_

This is what I meant when I told Jubes he can disappear just like that. This is Logan. He’s free. He *needs* his freedom. I know that. I can’t even be angry at this sorry excuse for contact. It’s quite something he’s contacting me at all. 

I have to admit my heart missed a few beats when I saw his mail this morning, but instead of replying right away, I’ve waited a few hours until I was calm again. 

And so now I write:

_‘Hey sugar,_

_I miss your grumpy self around. I hope you’ve found the answers you’ve been looking for._

_It’s almost time for my exams. I’ve got lots of homework. Can’t you talk to the Professor so he’ll cut me some slack? Pretty please? If it wouldn’t be an attempt to assassinate you, it would’ve earned you a kiss. Now you just have to be happy with my gratitude._

_To show you I’ve been a good girl; I’m still working out twice a week. When you’re back you won’t even recognize me anymore. I almost start to look like Rambo. We can compare biceps. You know, since I don’t have other body parts men like to compare. ;)_

_Okay. Enough rambling. Be careful._

_M.’_

And then I hit the send button and force myself not to check every five minutes to see if he’s replied already. Because that would be immature. And I’m really over him.

* * *

I had my first real mission this morning. I was the pilot when Scott and ‘Ro went for a pick up. It was a girl my age. Her mutation hit when her boyfriend broke up with her. Her thoughts became visible on her skin, sort of like temporary tattoos. Not very pleasant, I can imagine. She can also become intangible just like Kitty. During her breakup, she wished the earth would swallow her up and suddenly it did. She was freaked, of course. Very understandable if you ask me. 

Her parents kicked her out after her thoughts became visible about them as well. She’d been on the streets five months now, using the appropriate name ‘Tattoo’ and operating in some underground mutant-gang. She didn’t want to tell us her real name or the gang’s name, but she seemed glad we’d picked her up. Maybe they made her do stuff she didn’t want to do. She didn’t want to talk about that either. 

Needless to say, this whole thing got me thinking. I felt responsible for this girl right away. I wanted to reassure her. Tell her we’re the good guys. Tell her we’d protect her from further harm. And then I realized I almost sounded like Logan, when he tried to persuade me to stay after he’d caught me in the train.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I always thought I was special to him. Me - Marie. But now I know he’s got this protective thing for me because *he* was the one who’d picked *me* up. I could’ve been anybody. That was a damn shock. In fact, I’m still kinda upset about it. I’ve locked myself in my room, analyzing every word, every look, and every comforting gesture from the moment we met, and I can only come to one conclusion. 

Logan doesn’t like me for who I am. I’m his goddamn charity-project.

* * *

Third week of March. Another email: 

_‘Hey, kid,_

_I’m told I’m a suicidal maniac. I’d take that kiss anytime but Chuck didn’t budge. Sorry._

_Comparing biceps sounds good. As for the other body parts: I might be a tough competitor._

_Miss you. And your rambling._

_L.’_

I’m not gonna be happy that he misses me. I’m not. And I refuse to read something more in the kiss-comment. I’m not even gonna answer right away. 

No more charity for me.

* * *

I reply four days later.

_‘No result = no kiss. It’s a tough world. Sorry, sugar._

_On a more serious note, I’ve been thinking about my future a lot lately. You know Bobby wants me to move in with him once he’s done with his study, right? I decided to do so._

_I already told the Professor I’m not gonna be an X-Man for real. I guess that’ll make you happy. I know you don’t really want me on the team, leather suit notwithstanding. Since I still feel like I owe the Professor something after all he’s done for me, he’s offered a solution. I can get a job until Bobby’s done with his studies: being Charles’ secretary for the next two years. I guess he misses Jean doing stuff for him, and I don’t want to go to college anyway._

_What do you think? Good choice?_

_Gotta go now. Physic’s class._

_Take care,_

_M.’_

* * *

End of March:

_‘I’ll be home next week. Probably Thursday. We’ll talk about it when I’m back._

_L.’_

I closed my laptop without answering at all. 

And I also ignore the happy fluttering in my chest. 

I. Am. Over. Him.


	22. Chapter 22

Okay. Calm down. Logan’s coming home today. He’s coming home and I’m gonna be all normal and happy and glad he’s back, but I’m not gonna make an ass out of myself. 

Should I hug him? Should I even be here in the hallway? Maybe I should let him find me? Nah. If I’d been gone for three months, I’d be happy if someone was waiting for me. I’m gonna be his welcome committee. Because I’m his friend. Not his lovesick protégé. Yeah. I’m his friend and--oh! That’s his bike! Okay, do I look okay? Smell okay? Shit, calm down. Calm down and take a deep breath. 

The doors open and, just like the first time after he was gone, I walk up to him for a welcome home hug. “Hey, sugar!”

“Hey, kid,” he casually greets back, giving me a good squeeze before he lets go, barely concealing a happy smirk. “Miss me?”

I grin, knowing we’re repeating the past, and so I answer, “Not really.”

It’s the truth actually. Sure, I did miss him occasionally, especially in the beginning where I had a few good cries, but I was feeling rather peachy this last month. 

He readjusts his backpack. “Good. Been busy?”

“Yep. Finals and all. But hey, I told you I’d go mushy on you for the presents once you’d be back, right? Well, brace yourself because here I go.”

I’d step up, and again I put my arms around him, turning away my face to keep our bare skin from touching. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love your presents. It’s way too much.”

His backpack falls down but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He chuckles when he actually lifts me off the ground a little. “No problem. Thanks for the gloves.”

We untangle pretty much at the same time, and I’m really happy he’s back. I feel like I’m glowing all over. “It’s the least I could do. Okay, um… I don’t want to keep you up. Bet you want to go to you room to unpack, huh? I’ll be in mine if you want to catch up with the latest gossip. Okay?”

I give him a wink and a quick caress over his arm before I turn around and walk up the stairs. This time no one has to drag me away from him while I’m begging for attention because he’s looking at another woman. This time I’m keeping my dignity. 

“I might take you up on that offer,” he returns, and when I look over my shoulder, we exchange happy smiles. Nice, happy smiles without that nervous feeling in my stomach. I’m simply, genuinely, glad he’s back home.

* * *

Almost two hours later I’m sitting on the edge of my bath, the pants of my pj’s rolled up and shaving my legs while I sing along with the radio. I have no idea when Logan will drop by, but I’m not waiting around. I was planning to shave my legs tonight, and so I will. This is all a part of my ‘let’s act normal’ plan. 

“Kid?”

Oh, guess I didn’t hear his knock. 

“In here!” I reply. “I’m decent. Sorta. Come on in, and turn the radio down, please!”

He does, and then he peers in. “Hey, I--what are you doing?”

You know, normally I’d be embarrassed if he’d find me like this. I’m not even wearing make up anymore and my hair is up in a loose, messy bun. But that was During Crush. Now I’m Post Crush and couldn’t care less. 

“Shaving my legs. What does it look like?”

He doesn’t really answer, but the way he looks at my leg covered in foam and the razor smoothly sliding makes me think it never occurred to him women have to shave as well. 

“Oh, please,” I say, “You’re not one of those guys who think the female population comes without body hair, do you? I seriously thought better of you.”

Now he scowls and leans against the doorframe, his hands disappearing in the pockets of his jeans. “Never thought about it in relation to you.”

I frown, not really sure what he means by that. Did he think I was too young to shave my legs? Or because I’m always covered anyway? Or because I don’t have to look nice for anyone or something? What? 

I quickly dismiss all questions and just grin at him, showing him I’m woman enough, damnit. “Well, wanna know more? Discuss tampons or something? They’re over there in the cupboard.”

Now he grins and shakes his head. “No, thanks. You got plans tomorrow?”

“No. Why? Do I get to watch you shave? That would be sexy.”

“You can drop by anytime, but no. I thought maybe we can grab a bite somewhere.”

Is that his equivalent of ‘I need someone to talk to’? Or ‘I’d like some company’?

“Sure,” I tell him, keeping my cool and not even cutting myself. “Bike or car?”

“Your pick.”

“Bike. Definitely bike. I can show you the new outfit.”

“Okay. I won’t do any class tomorrow, but you’re still working out?”

“Yep, look at this.” I roll up my sleeve, bend my arm and make a fist to show him a bicep. Okay, so it’s not very impressive, but the fact you actually see a muscle moving makes me damn proud. “Cool, huh?”

That lopsided grin he’s trying not to show makes me laugh, and I pick up a wet sponge and threaten to throw it at him. 

“Are you making fun of me? Get out of here! One day I’ll be able to kick your ass. You just watch out!”

He holds up his hands and backs off. “Whoa. See you tomorrow. Pick you up at five.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” I reply, smiling, and when I hear him close the door, I can’t help but congratulate myself. I don’t even have flutters anymore. I think this time I can pull this ‘just being friends’ thing off quite nicely.

* * *

“Tadaaaa!” I spread my arms, turn around and wiggle my butt in front of Logan to show him my new leather outfit. “Do I look hot or do I look hot?”

He’s straddling the bike already, and that’s definitely an appreciating look on his face. “You look hot.”

I lick my gloved index finger and touch my butt. “Tsssss! You got that right, mister. You’re the lucky bastard I’m gonna hang out with tonight.”

“Great,” he agrees, obviously amused by my silly behavior. “Hop on.”

I close the clasp of my helmet and swing my leg over the seat. Snuggling against his backside, I wrap my arms around him and say, “Yippikayee, cowboy.”

He kicks the bike into gear and then we’re off.

* * *

We’re at Shots & Shooters again and we just gave the waitress our order. 

“So,” Logan starts, leaning back in his seat, “whatcha been doing?”

I tuck one foot underneath me and play with the menu. “I’ve been busy studying. And Kitty and Pete had a small crisis, so that took a big chunk out of my time, but they’re okay now. I’ve also spent two more weekends at Bobby’s. Met his friends and his grandfather. I think his dad is still a bit freaked out by me, and Ronny usually pretends I don’t exist, but his mom likes me. Or so I think. We’ve had a few good talks, and it was nice. You know, sorta like a ‘normal family’ nice. I’ve missed that. I almost forgot what it was like.”

“And now you’re gonna move to Boston?” 

“Yeah. Well, not right away. When Bobby’s done. I’m gonna take that job Charles offered for the time being, and maybe he can help me find a job over there as well. At least I’ll have some experience by then. I can’t… I’m not superhero material. My powers aren’t useful, and, to be honest, thinking I have to fight that bitch Mystique or someone like her is creeping me out.”

He shows me a wry smile. “That’s called common sense, kid. If it didn’t creep you out you’d be like me.”

“Which is?” 

“Deranged.”

His tone is casual, but the faint smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Aw… that’s not true. Don’t say those things. What did you find out that makes you believe that?”

Looking over the crowd, he doesn’t answer. It’s obvious something’s bothering him though. I’m not sure if I should pry or to wait a little while longer. 

Deciding to change back to small talk, I reach out for his tags around my wrist. “By the way, here. They’ve been good while you were gone.”

I hand them over, and when he stuffs them in his pocket without giving his tags so much as a glance, he asks, “When do you want to start your motorcycle lessons?” 

“Oh, don’t know. Tomorrow?”

“Where’s Ice?”

“It’s the end of his semester as well. We’re both kinda busy, so we agreed he should stay home and study. We’ll make up for it this summer. We’re gonna go to Europe. Cool, huh?”

Logan doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. In fact, he looks a bit annoyed. I wonder why. I thought he’d be glad I’m taking my life into my own hands. 

“Europe’s big. Where exactly?” he grunts almost involuntarily. Like he doesn’t really want to know. Or care. 

Our plates arrive, and so I wait until everything is set. Logan orders another beer and I attack my chicken burger. After the first few bites I tell him, “Paris, so bon appetite. And maybe London. Ever been there?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Me neither.” I keep this conversation going while munching. “I’ve been to Rome, though. And Berlin. My parents liked to go on City trips. But… to get back to the lessons, is tomorrow okay? I’ve got a shitload of stuff to do, but it would be nice to have a break.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Cool. Enough about me now. What about you? You’ve been gone for over three months. What have you been up to?”

“Not now,” he says, not leaving any room for negations, and I look up. 

“Bad?”

“Dunno yet.”

“Well, maybe I can help you figure it out.”

“No.”

Suddenly I’m sick and tired of this. I’m not sure where this irritation comes from, but I really want to tell him I’m fed up with all the secrecy. I was worried sick these past few months, and I always feel like I have to tiptoe around him. I don’t want that anymore. I want us to be equals. I want us to be honest to each other. 

I put down my burger rather forcefully and sit up straight. “You know what? I’ve had it with all the secrets. I’m really trying not to be too curious, but you never tell me shit. I’m pouring out my heart all the time, and all you do is keeping those jaws locked. Why don’t you trust me? Did I do anything to make you believe your stuff isn’t safe with me?”

He surely didn’t expect my outburst. To be honest, I didn’t expect it either. I didn’t think I’d even talk to him like this. Maybe it’s because I’m really over this hero worship-thing. He’s only human, after all. No need to walk on eggshells anymore. I can be pissed at him whenever I feel like it. 

My buddy’s expression changes from surprise to annoyance, and then to guarded. He scowls at his food like his steak has all the answers, but he doesn’t say anything. The sudden, defeated, weary stoop of his shoulders is making me feel guilty though. He looks so… lonely all of a sudden. 

Sighing, I bend over and explain quietly, “Logan, like most relationships, friendship is a two way street. It’s a give and take kind of thing. And right now, I feel like I’m taking everything. I always take. Why don’t you let me give for a change? Just for once?”

When his eyes snap up, they don’t have that caring warmth in them. He’s angry, and I can read frustration all over his face. I think I’ve gone too far even though I only meant well. 

“Alright,” I tell him, holding up my hand. “You want to choke on restrained emotions? Fine. Have it your way.” I take a big bite out of my burger and look the other way, leaving him stewing in silence. 

It doesn’t take long before he apologizes gruffly. 

“I’m sorry. I found out something, and I’m not sure what to think of it yet. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. I’ve only started to remember things, and until I know the whole story, I don’t want to talk about it.”

I nod. “Okay. That’s fair. If you don’t know your own thoughts, you can’t share ‘em. But there is more. I want to know what you and Bobby talked about. I want to know what you said when I gave you the other half my scarf. I also want to know what you did in Madripoor. Oh, and what happened outside during the Fundraising Ball.”

Obviously seeing the determined look in my eyes, a lopsided, resigned grin appears on his face. “Fair enough. How about one at the time?”

I smile back. “Like slowly peeling off the layers? Okay. And because I’m not a total bitch, I’ll let you pick the easiest one first.”

He leans back in his seat and takes a good swig of his beer. “I can’t talk about the Fundraising Ball. It’s classified. If you want details, ask Chuck.”

I laugh despite the fact I still don’t know anything. “That’s cheating. You have to tell me something else then.”

He grins back. “Madripoor.”

Oh. I didn’t expect that one. I’d thought he’d pick the scarf-tale. Well, doesn’t matter. I’ll get that one later. 

“I’m all ears.”

“You ever heard of giri?”

“What? You learned a new recipe or something?”

He laughs. “It’s a code. A Samurai’s code.”

“Well, excuse me, sugar. I’m not really into ninja’s and stuff.”

Again he thinks it’s amusing. “No ninja’s. Giri means ‘honor’. You can also call it ‘duty’ or ‘obligation’. It’s a part of something called Bushido, which means ‘way of the warrior’. Bushido is like western etiquette, but with much more honor. It contains unwritten rules for things like veracity, courage, justice, and loyalty. Giri mostly demands loyalty. To a master or a teacher. Someone you owe something. Like you think you owe Chuck. Get it?”

“Yeah,” I assure him, nodding. In fact, I’m pretty fascinated. I love hearing him talk and explain things. “How do you know all this?”

He shrugs one shoulder and empties his beer. “Dunno. Just do.”

“Okay. So giri. What’s that got to do with Madripoor?”

“Chuck got an anonymous phonecall. We tried to trace it, but no such luck. The woman told him I had to go to Madripoor and search for someone called ‘Viper’. So I did.”

“Did you find him?”

He smirks. “Her. She’s my wife.”

What the fuck?!

I stare at him, incredulously. He calmly stares back like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and when I finally find my voice again, I stammer, “What… why? How?”

Gesturing the waitress again, he answers, “Giri. I married her because I owed a mutual friend. Back then, I had some kind of reputation in that part of the island, and Viper needed the alliance. She’s pretty much been in charge all those years because of our marriage.”

I’m still trying to get my head around all this. 

“Okay. Okay, so… you’re saying you married this chick because you owed someone else? And then you haven’t seen her for ages? Hell, you even totally forgot about her? And then what? You just show up on her doorstep or something? What did she say? What did *you* say? ‘Hi honey! I’m home?’”

Again that amused smile. “I didn’t know she was my wife. She answered the door, looked at me and said, ‘If you’re here to consummate the marriage, let me slip into something more comfortable.’”

Holey crap. I’m about to pee my pants. Which is *not* be a very good idea because it’s leather. It doesn’t exactly make nice pee-material. I think. Not that I know or anything. 

Maybe I should pick up my jaw from the floor because I bet I look pretty ridiculous catching flies like this. 

“So…. did you?”

He frowns. “Did I what?”

“Consummate it?”

Not that it’s my business. And not like I care. 

“Marie, she’s seventy-two.”

“Seventy-two?” I repeat dumbly. “You married a fossil?”

He thinks this all is pretty funny. “We got married in nineteen-fifty-one. She was in her twenties at the time.”

I think this is all a bit too much for me. I have no idea what to think of all this. I’m glad about one thing though. It’s one thing to have a crush on an older man, it’s another if the older man is also married. Thank God I’m over him. 

Chewing on my lip, I try to understand what’s going on. “Nineteen-fifty-one. Okay. So… that’s a long time ago. Did she recognize you?”

“Yeah. She said I hadn’t changed a bit. Except that I’ve got two eyes now.”

After my blank stare, he explains, “Somehow I’d lost an eye. I didn’t heal that fast back then, so they must’ve enhanced it in the lab. I had an eye patch for a while, and that got me the nickname Patch over there.”

“Cool. Like a pirate,” I say, gazing at his hand. “So, now what? Where’s your ring?”

“I got a divorce.”

In all my confusion I knock over my diet coke and we both jump up to avoid getting wet. “Jesus… any more surprises?”

Logan answers, “Nope. She let me off the hook. We filed the paperwork, and because she had some influence, it was done within a few weeks.”

“Damn. How can you keep those things to yourself? Don’t you want to talk about stuff like that? I mean, it’s important, isn’t it?”

A waitress hurries our way to clean mess and Logan flashes her a dangerously wicked smirk. She blushes and dries out table like it’s her lifetime’s achievement. 

Bastard. He orders another beer and a diet coke, and the waitress almost runs to get it. It’s pathetic. I’m so glad I’m not one of his harem-wannabees anymore. 

“I talk,” Logan defends his lack of communication after she’s gone. 

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I ask, “To whom?”

“Kurt. And Hank. Sometimes.”

“Ouch,” I say. “That hurts. I thought we were friends, too.”

“We are. You have enough shit from me. Don’t want you to deal with more.” 

I reach out to his hand and entwine our fingers. “Hey, I like that. I like to deal with your stuff if that means I can help you. You’re helping me all the time. It’s the least I can do.” Then I grin. “Call it giri, if you want.”

He grins back and gives my hand a little squeeze. “Smartass.”


	23. Chapter 23

Today I’m gonna learn how to ride a bike. Yes! That’s so cool! Who would’ve thought little ol’ me would fly jets, drive the coolest cars and ride bikes? I became such a different girl than my parents had in mind. I’m still not sure which side is more ‘me; the quiet dreamer or the tough chick in leather, but maybe I’m a little bit of both. 

Logan is in the garage already, fishing the keys out of his pocket. “Ready?”

“Yep. Can we first go to some place quiet? Like an abandoned parking lot or something? I don’t really feel like doing something stupid in front of everyone.”

“Sure.”

“’Kay. Thanks.”

I sit down behind him in a way that feels comfortable by now, and we take off once again. 

I can’t wait to tame this badass bike.

* * *

“Got it?”

Logan has been explaining stuff, sitting on the bike while I’m standing next to him. The gear changing part is kinda weird if you ask me, but I nod anyway. 

“Yep. Breaks on the right. Hand is front, foot is rear. Gas is on the right as well. Left hand is clutch, left foot is changing gears. The first down is one, the next four up is two to five.”

“Good.” He scoots backwards and taps the space between him and the tank. “Climb on.”

“Oh, no,” I say, backing out. “You don’t want me to steer right now, do you? With that gear stuff and all. I can’t do that yet!”

He smiles. “I’ll ride. You just sit and feel what it’s like to be up front.”

Eyeing him and the bike, I’m a bit puzzled. “Where do I put my hands? And my feet?”

He points down to the front of the frame where two extra steps are attached. “See those things? They’re called highway pegs. Use those. And there’s enough space on the handlebars to hold on to. Or you can place you hands over mine and feel what I do. That’s even better.”

Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes!

Um, I mean… hey, okay. No sweat. I’m not gonna be all excited because I sorta get to sit on his lap and hold his hands. Because I was over him. I still am. 

Right. 

“Alright. As long as I don’t have to do anything. Deal?”

“Yeah. Come on. Sit.”

“Yes, sir.”

I have a little trouble getting my leg over the bike because I don’t want to kick him, so I hold onto his sleeve to steady myself, but I manage it without accidents. When I’m finally in place, I suddenly feel really tough. And very surrounded by Logan. I can feel his chest against my back, his thighs pressed alongside mine, and his arms caging me. It’d be really very claustrophobic if I didn’t like him this much. In a totally friendly way, of course. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Oh, wait! My hair.” 

He might get it into his face now that’s he’s behind me, so I try to stuff it into my helmet the best I can. “Okay. Done. Can you see the road alright? I mean, with my helmet and all?”

"No problem.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

He starts the bike and I try to pay attention, but his hands and left leg are moving at the same time when he kicks it into first gear, so I lose track the moment we take off. The fact that my hands are covering his and those legs are moving against mine in a way I’m really not used to isn’t helping either. He’s so close. It feels so intimate to feel those movements. I’m starting to think that this whole bike-stuff isn’t a very good idea, but then I feel the wind and I’m hooked. 

“Okay?” he asks, and I nod.

“Yeah! Harder!”

He speeds up, and even when we’re leaning in the curves I feel confident because he controls the bike so easily. At some point, his legs around my hips force me with him to hang off the bike towards the inside of a turn, and it’s such a wonderful adrenaline rush I feel like I’m high. By the time he makes a stop near the River, I’m out of breath and almost hyperventilating from excitement. 

“Oh, my God!” I squeal, taking off my helmet and looking over my shoulder, “that was so cool!”

Logan grins. “Yeah. Never done that with someone up front. Had to find new balance.”

“I loved it. I totally want to learn this myself.”

“You will. Just remember, you don’t have healing.”

Rolling my eyes, I grin. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful. And wear protective clothing.”

“Good. Wanna go back?”

“No, but I have to,” I say, pouting and leaning back against him. “I have a huge paper to write for Mutant Ethics, but so far I can’t come up with anything. Ugh.”

He casually puts him arms around me, and I feel his cheek against the side my head, protected by my hair. “What’s it about?”

Uh oh. This feels really nice. Like, really really nice. And way too intimate. 

“Ethical conflicts regarding our own mutation. In other words, worst-case scenarios that might want to make you cross a line in case of an emergency. Using your gift in a way you thought you never would,” I explain, realizing I have to get out of his arms otherwise the flutters will come back to life again. 

Sitting up straight, I add, “By the way, help me to get off of this thing, will you?”

He scoots back some more and I hop off. Standing next to him on slightly shaky legs, I try to find my balance again. 

Logan tilts his head to the side and frowns. “There’s enough to write about that.”

Eyeing him skeptically, I ask, “Like what?”

“Like the time I stabbed you. You took my healing even though you didn’t want to hurt me. Seems ethical enough.”

I shrug and look down at my feet. “Yeah, but that’s something personal. We’re gonna discuss it in class. I’d rather keep it hypothetical.”

He nods and seems to think about it again. I’m fidgeting with the clasp of my helmet, thinking about those damn flutters, when he states, “You can become the most powerful mutant of us all.”

Looking up in surprise, I stammer, “Huh?”

“You can take everyone’s powers. Even Chuck’s. That makes you potentially the most powerful one. What if he’s dying and he wants to give you his gift so you can locate other mutants with Cerebro? We don’t have Jeanie anymore. What would you do?”

Whoa, that’s an interesting one. I’ve never thought about my mutation like that.

I chew on my lip while I think about it some more. 

Would I take it, meaning I’d also get the Professor in my head? Maybe even for the rest of my life? Would he take over, possess my body, or would he let me stay in control? It would be for a greater cause, right? But I don’t want to lose myself for a greater cause. Been there, done that. I didn’t want to do it for Erik, and I don’t want to do it for Charles. But Logan’s got a point. It would make a good subject. I can write about that. 

“Cool,” I say, smiling. “I think I can work it out. Thanks.”

“Welcome. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

I hop on behind him this time, and all the way back I distract myself by working out the idea for the paper. There still are no flutters allowed.

* * *

Finals are almost here, and God, I’m so nervous. So much to do, so little time. Bobby and I hardly see each other, and most of the time I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Meanwhile, I still work out twice a week with Kitty, Pete and Logan, and every Friday night I have motorcycle lessons. 

Those are actually fun. I can take a ride alone now, although I still screw up with changing gears sometimes. We’re gonna do some serious stuff soon, work on my control. I’m not sure what to expect, but at least I know it involves pylons. We’ll see. 

Anyway, it means I get to spend quite a lot of time with Logan, and I’m completely comfortable around him now. No weird, awkward moments, no silly thoughts, no funny feeling in my stomach - I’m really past all that. It’s a true relief. We’re finally the friends I want us to be. As long as he doesn’t get too touchy-feely, that is.

* * *

“Again.”

“Aw, shit, Logan! Come on. I did good this time!”

My buddy skeptically raises an eyebrow. “You knocked over two pylons, touched the ground once with your left foot, and your posture sucks.”

I glare back. “My posture sucks? What’s this? Ballet?”

Taking a long drag from his cigar, he walks back to the pylons to get them up again. 

“You wanna ride a bike, you need to be in control. Your posture is a part of that. Keep your knees close to the tank.”

“Ugh. This is stupid. I really can’t see the point of maneuvering through slalom in real life. It’s not like I ever gonna need it. And what about my knees? I’m not gonna ride this thing in a skirt. Can’t see why I have to sit all girly.”

Logan smirks. “It’s not girly. Flapping your legs makes the machine unstable.”

“I am *not* flapping my legs,” I mutter under my breath, but he hears it just the same. 

“Kid, stop whining and hug the goddamn tank between your thighs. Think of it as your boyfriend.”

I giggle. “Now that’s an interesting thought.” Kicking the bike into first gear, I take a deep breath and try again. 

This time I knock out only one pylon, but I don’t touch the ground and I keep my posture. I think.

“Better,” Logan calls out when I stop at the end of the slalom. “Need a break?”

“God, yeah!”

I turn around and love the feel of riding this monster. At first I was afraid of dropping it because it’s damn heavy, but Logan said he wouldn’t mind much if it’d happen. He said a beaten up leather jacket looks way more interesting than a new one, and the same goes for bikes. Gives it character, he said. 

I don’t really believe that. I think he doesn’t want me to worry, but still, it’s sweet of him to say so. I think I’d freak out if I would drop it, but luckily I didn’t do anything really stupid. Yet. 

After putting the bike on its side stand, we both sit down on a bench to look out over the river. It has become our regular spot to do these exercises. I’m anxiously waiting for the day when Logan takes Scott’s bike so I can ride all the way from the Mansion to this place myself. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of us and the pylons on just one motorcycle, but so far I’m not complaining. It’s nice to be able to cuddle against his backside without getting all giggly about it. 

I’m really glad this crush-thing is over. I’m way more relaxed now. I’m even looking forward to our sauna date. So far we didn’t have time, but we agreed to go after my finals. Life is so much easier without me acting like a smitten twit around him. I must’ve embarrassed him to pieces. 

Glancing next to me, I wonder how easy it is to just be quiet with him nowadays. When he’s relaxed as well, silence never feels weird or uncomfortable. It’s almost like being quiet with no one but yourself. I really like that. Still, I’ve also been waiting for the scarf-story. Or what he’s been doing in Japan. It’s kinda tough to have serious talks when you’re riding a bike, and these brief interludes between the bike-exercises are usually too short to go all serious. When we’re working out, Pete and Kitty are always there, and he’s still going on Secret Missions for the Professor while I have classes, friends and homework. 

I’ve been hoping he’d tell me another secret today, but we didn’t exactly set the rules. If he’s going to tell me one, I hope it’ll be about the scarves. It really bugs me that I don’t know what he was saying. I wish I’d remembered the words. Or at least one of them. I might’ve been able to find anything on the Internet. 

It reminds me of Jubilee’s story about the ‘Red String of Fate’ and soul mates. I think those things are bullshit. I don’t believe in them anymore. Well, not in the overly romantic kinda way. I think there are lots of people right for each other. Placing your bet on just one person seems kind of limiting. Unless you have poisonous skin, of course. Then you have to take what you can get. 

I did read a book about a different approach on the concept of soul mates the other day. What if a soul mate is someone who helps you? Sorta like a guide or something? Someone who picks you up when you’re fed up with everything?

“Hey, Logan? Do you believe in soul mates?” I ask my buddy, suddenly curious. “Not the mushy kind, but soul mates as in people who are destined to meet because they have a positive effect on each other’s lives?”

He takes his time to think about, studying his cigar. Finally, he settles for, “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d have to accept what they made me into.”

“Alright, but don’t you think it’ll give you peace? Because you can’t undo the past. I think acceptance is the only way to deal with it.”

Again he takes his times for an answer. “I can’t.”

“I think… I’ve read this book, and it was all about finding your way. It said some people you meet in life are guides. They don’t really push you into a direction, but it’s more like, they make you find the right path easier. Like, they give you a map instead of letting you walk around aimlessly.” 

“Could be.”

I put my hand on his thigh without really thinking about it. It doesn’t feel weird to reach out to him these days, and he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Suppose… suppose it’s true? Do you think it’ll be two way deal? Like, everyone is both lost and a guide for someone else?”

His arm moves around and behind me, and his hand ends up on my shoulder. “In a fair world, it could be.”

“Yeah,” is all I say, thinking about his answer, scooting a bit closer. 

But this isn’t a fair world. Far from it, actually. And yet, lately, I have these thoughts about a two way deal between Logan and me. I have a feeling he needs me. More than he wants to admit. I thought he was my guide, but what if it’s the other way around?

Leaning in against his side, I confess, “You know, back in Laughlin City, I wanted to ask you for a ride just before the bald guy turned up.”

He’s absently playing with my hair, whirling it around his finger. He’s done it before and I kinda like it, so I don’t say anything. 

“I would’ve said ‘no’,” he answers gruffly. 

“Yeah, I know. Well, now I do. Now that I know you. I guess baldy did me a favor.”

He takes another drag from his cigar but doesn’t say anything. I smell the rich scent of tobacco all around us, and it has a comforting effect on me. I hate the smell of cigarettes, but somehow I like cigars. 

Logan’s the one breaking the silence this time. “Why’d you pick me?”

“Don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “No one seemed right. And it looked like everyone hated you, so I thought we had something in common. We were both unwanted or something. I don’t know. I was tired. And hungry. You felt right. I guess it was a gut-thing.”

I’m not sure of my answer satisfies his curiosity, but he leaves it at that. 

Strands of hair slide through his fingers and I really enjoy his indirect touch. I try to sit still so he stays unaware of it, and after a few minutes or relaxed silence, I say, “I know what I want to do after my trip to Europe.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I want to neutralize creepy places.”

Now Logan turns his head to look at me with narrowed eyes and it makes me giggle. 

“I mean, I want to go to all the places that contain a bad memory and replace it with something good. Something funny.”

“How’re gonna do that?”

“I didn’t figure that one out yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. It won’t be that hard. Anything is better than dying up there, you know.” I vaguely gesture to the direction of Liberty Island. “Even if I just eat a peanut butter sandwich and get out of there alive with my hair still the same, it’ll be a better memory than before.”

Logan snorts but agrees. “True.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Sure. Want me to eat a peanut butter sandwich too?”

I giggle again and slap his thigh. “You’re such a dork sometimes.”

Smirking, he lets go of my hair and grabs my gloved hand to press a quick kiss on my fingers. “I think it’s time for slalom again.”


	24. Chapter 24

I did it. I graduated, and now I’m free to do as I please. 

Well, sort of. 

Right now, I think finding my room and crawling into bed is a damn fine plan. I drank too much, and these heels don’t want to cooperate on these stairs. It’s way after curfew and I’m so out of line, but hey, it’s not my fault really. Kitty was supposed to be driving, but she and Pete took off so Jubes and I were forced to party a little while longer. How very unfortunate. Heheh. But then it suddenly wasn’t that much fun anymore, because Jubes took off as well, blowing me a kiss and groping some guy who’d been hitting on her all night. The sneaky bitch. I’m so gonna get her for that, because that’s when things turned sort of ugly. 

I suddenly missed Bobby. Everyone was euphoric and making out like horny monkeys, and I just sat there. Alone. Covered. Completely sober. Did I mention ‘alone’ already? Whatever. The point is, I sorta started flirting with some older guy. Scruffy type. Tall. Stubble. 

What? I happen to like tall, scruffy men. I seriously think all men look better when they don’t shave. Seriously. And this guy was cute in a grownup kind of way. So I flirted a bit. And he flirted back. A lot. And I suddenly wished I could kiss him. Make out a little without worrying about my skin. Or a certain boyfriend. Because said boyfriend totally ditched me for his work on graduation night. Asshole. 

He’d been there for the ceremony, but he couldn’t stay because he had to work tomorrow. Which is technically today already. He keeps insisting to pay for our accommodation in Europe himself, the stubborn boy, so he can’t afford to miss one single day. His absence more or less pushed me into the inviting arms of Scruffy Guy. It’s not my fault I kept smiling at him. All very innocently of course. 

So he bought me a Cosmopolitan without asking for an ID. He was my hero. By the time Jubes returned, all flushed and giddy, I’d had quite few drinks. I was glad I was covered from head to toe because Scruffy Guy sure had some wandering hands. Yep. And I didn’t even mind much. I think he wanted to kiss me at some point, but Kitty popped up and snatched me away just in time. Good rescue. He probably owes her his life. We left soon after, but I think I told everyone in the car how much I loved them. And how I love cosmopolitans. And men with facial hair. Older men with facial hair in particular. 

And now I’m dizzy. And slightly nauseous. Crap.

Swaying on my feet I open the door to my room and announce theatrically, “I’m drunk.”

Logan’s keeping his eyes on the TV screen while he seems all comfortable on my bed with his arms folded behind his head. “Shit happens, kid.”

I stumble in. “Yeah, but how comes shit always finds its way to me? What am I? The sewer or something?”

He looks up while I make my way to the bathroom, trying to kick out my heels at the same time. 

“Had fun?”

“No. I wish,” I tell him, leaving a trail of clothes behind me and not even bothering to close the door as I take a shower. 

“Want me to leave?” he calls out, and I roll my eyes because he’s not even looking so there really isn’t a point.

“Don’t care. You can finish the game if you want.”

I mean, it’s Logan. He’s seen women naked before, and we’re having a sauna date soon anyway. Besides, that stupid hockey game is getting all his attention. I bet, if I’d jump on his stomach all naked right now, he’d ask me to move because I’d be blocking his view. Ugh. Life’s so unfair. I haven’t had decent sex in months. Months! My boyfriend jerked off on me a few times while I sorta finished myself off because he didn’t feel like going through the fuss of tights and condoms. And to be honest, I’m sick and tired of it as well. 

Scrubbing my face, I wonder what my life would look like if I was touchable. Would I settle for a boyfriend, or would I just flirt and make out when a guy is cute enough? Would I be the kind of girl guys wanna have a go at? When they look at me, not knowing about this whole skin-thing, are they picturing me underneath them? On top of them?

I step out and grab a towel. My hair’s dripping wet, but I really don’t care. I wrap the towel around me and stagger back into the room, aiming for the drawer with my underwear.

“Hey, sugar, if I’d ask you an honest question, would you give me an honest answer?”

He doesn’t even bother to check me out, but he reaches under my pillow and pulls out a silver colored chemise. “You know there’s stuff I can’t talk about.” 

It’s pissing me off. I’m almost naked here and he’s not even glancing my way while he holds out the silk fabric. I snatch it from his hand and return to the bathroom again. 

“This is personal,” I call out. “If I was touchable, and older, and less taken, and totally into you, would you do me?”

It stays quiet for quite some time so I peek into my room. “What’s the matter? Lost your tongue?”

Switching off the TV, he sits up straight and finally turns around to face me. Suspiciously narrowing his eyes, he questions, “What’s this all about?”

I’m more or less decent again although I bought this chemise for Bobby and so it’s sorta boyfriend material only. It’s not like Logan will notice or anything. Nooooo. I’m just a kid to him, so I snap, “Just answer the question, will you? It’s important to me.”

“Yeah.”

I stop the search for my slippers so abruptly the world is seriously spinning when I turn around to see if I heard that right. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s sitting there on my bed, all calm and collected. His boots neatly tucked under my desk again, and I really like to see them there. I also like to see him on my bed. And in my bed. And… uh… what was I thinking again? Oh, right, he’d do me. 

I blink a few times to focus. “Okay, how?”

He frowns. “How?”

“Yeah, how. As in… hard? Fast? Do I look like someone you take against a wall? Or in a storage room?”

Looking away, he smiles an almost-embarrassed smile. “Marie--”

“Answer me. I wanna know.”

He sighs and then stares me straight in the eyes again. “No.”

I frown. “No… what? No, I don’t answer, or no, I wouldn’t do you in a storage room?”

“I wouldn’t do you in a storage room.”

“Why not?”

He gets up now and walks to the other side or my room. “You’re not… you’re not just anybody. You deserve better.”

I snort. “No one is a nobody, Logan. Everyone has feelings. Even the bimbo’s you pick.”

He glares at me. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I agree absently, suddenly remembering I forgot to brush my teeth and therefore heading for the bathroom once again. “I wish I could be more like you in those things.”

This time I do close the door behind me because I also have to pee and he doesn’t need to witness that. He might be into kink once in a while, but I’m pretty sure he’s not into golden shower-stuff. 

After doing my business, I take a look in the mirror and discover I look like crap. My make-up is all over my face. Ugh. I wasn’t wearing waterproof mascara and I’m feeling shittier by the minute. 

After scrubbing my face again and brushing my teeth, I stumble back into my room and find Logan staring out of my window. 

Eyeing his back, I sit down on my bed and ask, “So… you’d do me if I was touchable, older, single and willing. What’s the biggest obstacle about me now? The untouchable thing?”

Keeping his back turned to me he starts, “Kid--”

“Don’t you ‘kid’ me,” I interrupt him, snappily. “You just agreed you’d fuck me.”

Now he turns around and looks plain annoyed, but he calmly points out, “Under different circumstances.”

I nod. “Exactly. So, which one of those circumstances is keeping you from doing it? You know, if I was willing, of course.”

He doesn’t answer, but he keeps staring at me like he wants to know for sure I’m not gonna break down and cry when he tells me the truth. 

“Come on,” I push. “I can take it. Seriously.”

“Age.”

“Oh… really? Not the untouchable thing?”

I really thought he’d say my skin was the mood killer. 

“Skin and boyfriend don’t matter.”

“Oh,” I mumble again, trying to get my head around it. It’s kinda tough because my brain feels kinda heavy. And foggy. 

I should’ve known he doesn’t care about Bobby. I mean, he hit on Jean all the time right under Scott’s nose. Then again, Logan is nothing but a big slut. He’s probably not the best resource material. Maybe I should ask someone who’s more serious about his sex life. 

Trying to stand up, I mumble. “Oh, well. Thanks. Now, excuse me, I’m gonna find me a pickier man.”

He rushes over, and for a moment his hand closes around my bare upper arm before he remembers that’s not a very good idea. He lets go before the pull can start and settles for a tug at the fabric of my silky little gown. “Hey hey, wait up. Where’re you going?”

I stop to turn around and grin. “Sugar, you more or less fuck every woman who’s willing. I have to interrogate more men to get an accurate answer about what’s wrong with me.” 

Again he tugs and stops me. “Nothing’s wrong with you. What happened?”

I sigh. “Nothing. Nothing *ever* happens. That’s the problem. Am I ugly?”

“What? No!” 

The confused look on his face makes me giggle hysterically. 

“You think Scott’s up? I wanna ask him too.”

“Whoa, now! Hang on for a second.” 

Again that annoying tug. I turn around and place my hands on my hips.

“Would you cut that out? This is a very delicate piece of fabric and I’m on a mission!”

He quickly walks up to his jacket, takes out the gloves I gave him and puts them on. Then he grabs me by my shoulders and gently guides me to my bed. “Scott’s asleep. It’s almost three a.m., and it’s time for you to get some sleep as well.”

I growl. “Stop the paternal crap. It’s making me sick.”

He smirks and pulls away the duvet. “That’s the booze. Not me. Get in.”

Despite the fact I really wanted to seek out Scott, I do as I’m told. I *am* tired after all. 

Snuggling a little deeper under the covers, I sigh and confess, “You know, I had a crush on you once.”

My buddy doesn’t say anything, but he sits next to me, tucking me in. 

I’m getting sleepier by the minute but I continue, “I got over it. It was pathetic. I even slept in your shirt a few times. The one you gave me during our first workout. I’m sure you know all this, but I want to tell you that I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. It won’t happen again. It’s gone.” I reach out to his face and he doesn’t flinch away even though I’m not wearing my gloves. Caressing his cheek where it’s covered by hair, I say, “All that’s left now is love. Nice, simple love. Nothing complicated.”

He stares at me, his face unreadable. “I thought love was always complicated.”

“Nah. It only is when you’re expecting something back. Something more than you already get. And I don’t expect those things anymore. I know what you’re feeling. You don’t want to care, but you love me anyway. Different than I once wanted, but that’s okay. This kind of love isn’t bad either.”

I turn to my side, grab his gloved hand and close my eyes contently. For a few seconds we both stay quiet, but then I feel him gently pulling away from my grasp. 

“Don’t go,” I beg. “Tell me a story.”

He chuckles quietly. “I’m not good at bedtime stories.”

“Tell me about the scarf-tale. That Japanese thing. Legend. Whatever.”

“It’s got nothing to do with scarves.”

“Doesn’t matter. Tell it anyway. Please?”

He sighs and shifts a little. 

“Unmei no akai ito. It means ‘red string of fate.’”

“Oh,” I murmur, too sleepy to be surprised. “Jubes told me about that. People who are destined to meet are connected to each other by an invisible red string. Or thread. Whatever. It was something like that. But the scarf was green. And I thought you didn’t believe in fate or destiny.”

“I don’t. When you gave me the other half… it just reminded me of the legend.”

“Liar. I bet you’re a romantic deep down. Carving hearts in trees and all.”

“Okay. You got me.” 

“Hmm. I knew you’re a pansy from the moment I saw you. Can I ask you another question? A personal one?”

He voice is soft and low. “Sure.”

“If I was older, and we’d, you know, get it on, would you have kissed me?”

This time no hesitation. “Yeah.”

I smile, keeping my eyes closed and feeling sleep almost taking over. “Really? Real kisses?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, you know. Just… thanks.”

And then the world fades to black.


	25. Chapter 25

Remind me to never drink again. Not only because it’s unhealthy and you’re feeling crap the day after, but because announcing declarations of love while drunk is utterly pathetic. Not that I didn’t mean it or anything. Hell no. I do love Pete. And Kitty. And Jubes. And Logan. And I even love Charles’ canary, but caring for them and verbalizing those feelings are two entirely different matters. 

Right now, I’m torn between hiding in my room, or seeking out Logan to apologize for my embarrassing behavior. I mean, Christ, did I make an ass of myself. I can’t hide here forever though. Sooner or later he’ll turn up anyway, so I might as well go find my buddy and get it over with. The least I can do is thank him for keeping me from bursting into Scott’s room in the middle of the night to ask him if he’d have sex with me. My God… what was I thinking? 

After checking his room and the garage, I’m pretty sure Logan’s in the Danger Room. The red light near the door’s on, indicating there’s a program running, so I head to the control room instead. 

Yep, there he is, in the middle of a simulated jungle. Holy Mother. How the man manages to look so good in just army pants and a simple black t-shirt is beyond me, but he sure pulls it off.

I’ve never seen him fight, now that I think about it. For real, I mean. I’ve seen him getting mad in the bar, but he let the poor bastards go after pulling himself together. I saw him kill those soldiers right in front of me when we got attacked by Stryker’s men, but it happened so fast. Those guys were dead before they could even blink an eye, and I was in too much of a shock to register it all. This time I think I’m gonna stay here and watch for a while. See if I can learn something. 

Whoa… Did he just break someone’s neck with his bare hands? And where did the guy come from? I press my nose against the glass to get a better view. I still can’t get used to the fact that this all simulated. It looks so real, it’s plain scary.

Logan is crouching down again, waiting for the next opponent. Some virtual Bad Guy is obviously walking his last steps, because Logan jumps at him. The guy draws a knife and I want to scream ‘look out!’ again, but Logan’s fast and uses it to slice the guy’s own throat. Crimson liquid gushes out of the gaping wound, pouring over his hands, but he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t even take the time to wipe them clean. He just drops the poor bastard and disappears between all the green again. 

The sight of the guy’s glassy eyes, his mouth twisted in some silent scream, and the blood darkening his uniform makes me sick. I have to turn my head to avoid my stomach launching my breakfast all over the control panel. I wasn’t feeling that well from last night, and now this. I guess Logan uses the adult-version of the program. It’s repulsive, and yet, I also wonder what it would be like to feel someone’s blood pouring warm and sticky over my own hands. What it would smell like. Taste like, even. 

While I’m disgusted by my own thoughts, my buddy is surrounded by three other men. I expect him to pop the blades anytime, but instead, he’s staring at the ground and… no, I think he’s got his eyes closed. He must be focusing on sound only. 

As much as the Danger Room is advanced technology, there’s no smell involved yet. I guess that’s tough for Logan. He relies on his sense of smell the most. Not only during combat, but in everyday life as well. Maybe that’s why he’s training so much. He’s forced to use his other senses here. 

While I’m staring at him, I know the person down there is not the raging Wolverine. This is calculating Logan. The man is in charge, not the beast. I wonder if that’s because he can’t rely on all his senses, or because he simply doesn’t allow Wolverine to surface. Even when the men attack he doesn’t go feral. He’s fast and efficient. His movements show confidence and expertise, and he clearly goes for a straight kill without his claws, leaving me in complete awe.

By the time he’s done and the program stops, I have to remind myself to breathe again. The lifeless bodies disappear, the forest goes up in nothing, and even the blood on Logan’s hands and clothes vanish just like that. This technology is seriously creepy. 

A few seconds later, the door opens behind me and Logan’s toweling his hands even though they weren’t really bloody. “Enjoying the show?”

I swallow and try to form a rational thought. “Yeah. No. Well, sorta. I mean, it’s kinda gross. I know it’s not real and maybe I should see it like some sort of advanced videogame, but still, it’s… sinister.”

He pushes some buttons and the light goes out in the Danger Room. “It’s what I do.”

His voice is indifferent, but he’s got his back to me so I can’t read his expression. Somehow I have the feeling he wants me to be shocked, but it’s not like I didn’t know he was capable of killing others. It’s the gore that’s a bit too much after waking up nauseous already. 

“I guess.”

After typing in his personal code to shut down the system, he turns around. “How’s the head?”

And suddenly I remember why I’m here. 

Shuffling my feet, I bit my lip and look down. “Fine. I wanted to talk to you about that. Can we, like, forget last night? Because… things got a bit weird. It’s not like I didn’t mean it, but… it’s awkward.” Glancing up, I continue, “So… okay?”

He’s leaning against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, a slightly amused smile betraying his emotions. “Sure. Amnesia is my specialty. What’s your name again?”

Now I smile as well, closing the gap between us to slap his arm. “Not *that* much, stupid. Just last night. And thanks. For stopping me when I wanted to harass Scott. That would be seriously embarrassing.”

“Welcome.” He suddenly bolts to his feet, drapes his towel over my head so it protects his bare arm from my skin when he wraps it around my neck and jams my head in the crook of his elbow to give me a noogie. 

“Owww! I hate that!” I protest, laughing and struggling to get away from those knuckles across the top of my head. 

“That’ll teach you to keep indecent proposals and love declarations to yourself next time,” he lectures teasingly, tugging at the towel again so I see him slipping into the hallway by the time I’m oriented. 

“Aaaargh! We agreed to forget that!” I shout after him, rubbing my skull and straightening my hair again. Then, I mutter, “And I wasn’t making an indecent proposal. You so wish, you big lug.”

“I heard that!” he answers from the hallway.

A frustrated growl escapes my throat.

* * *

This is a nice job, I think. I have my own office next to the Professor. We have a connecting door, but he prefers it closed. I do too, actually. It feels kinda weird to spend so much time around him all of a sudden. And we’re also in a different relationship. I’m not a pupil anymore. I’m his secretary now. Kind of weird. It’s all very… grown up.

All this has caused me to think about my name. One of the things I have to do is pick up the phone and make visitors feel welcome. This is a serious, normal job, and it’s a start of a serious, normal life. That means I have to have a serious, normal name to match all that. I don’t want to use ‘Marie’ because Marie belongs to another life. This is a new life, so I’m thinking to go by the name of ‘Anna’ from now on. Even though my full name is Anna-Marie, no one at home called me that. They only used ‘Marie’, so it sorta fits. It’s still me, but different. 

I’m going through all the paperwork I have to file this morning, and I come across something with _‘File no. 97-0309-01’_ on it.

Were do I file this under? I didn’t see a section with numbers like these anywhere. 

My curiosity triggered, I open the file, see Tattoo’s picture and read: 

_**‘File no. 97-0309-01**_

_Codename: Tattoo_

_Last name: Unknown_  
 _First name: Unknown_  
 _Date of birth: Unknown_  
 _Place of Birth: Unknown_

_Height: 5'6”_  
 _Eyes: green_  
 _Hair: black (currently bald)_

_Affiliation: Omega Gang [File no. 96-1222-01]_

_Mutation: bio-phasing, causing disruption to the neurochemistry of those reached into, and chameleon skin, allowing to forms words or patterns in a tattoo-like appearance._

_Overall Class: 3_

_Sub a: 3 (bio-phasing – control 3)_  
 _Sub b: 1 (chameleon skin – control 4)_  
 _Sub c: -_  
 _Sub d: -_

_File includes: history (1 page), medical file (1 page), and psychological file (1 page)._

_Other: refuses to reveal personal data. Traumatized, perhaps pressured into illegal activities.’_

Whoa… this is Tattoo’s personal file. I didn’t know the Professor kept a file this detailed. I’m kinda shocked. 

Even though I know it’s inappropriate, I leaf through the rest of the papers but there isn’t much information. Just a brief rapport how she got into this school. My name is mentioned in her history and… hey, my file number is in there as well. 

_‘Rogue [codename – File No. 96-0511-01]’_

Cool. I wonder where it is. The professor didn’t mention personal files when he asked me to archive this stuff. And what do those numbers behind ‘Class, Sub, and control’ mean? I can’t find a legend or some symbol key here. I’m way too curious for things like these. No wonder the Professor told me he expected discretion from me. He said there could be confidential papers among all this crap. I was hoping to find more about Logan’s missions, but not these kind of things. 

Picking up the file, I make my way over to the connecting door and knock. “Professor?”

“Come in, dear.”

Peeking in, I hold up Tattoo’s file. 

“I found this and I’m not sure where to put it.”

He stares at the file for a moment before he recognizes it. “Oh, I assume it ended up on the wrong pile. You can leave it on my desk. I’ll take care of it. Thank you.”

Walking up into his office, I confess, “I took a peek to figure out what it was.”

Charles is already ruffling through his other paperwork and answers distractedly, “That’s fine.”

“So… you keep files on all of us?”

“Yes. Have you seen the letter from the Ministry of Mutant Affairs?”

I shake my head. “No, but I have quite some stuff to archive still.” 

He frowns. “Hmm. If you happen to come across it, would you be so kind to hand it over to me, please?”

“Sure. But… can I ask you a question?”

Now I have his full attention again. Looking at me with a warm smile, he nods. “Of course.”

“What are those numbers next to ‘Class, Sub, and control’?”

He leans back in his wheelchair. “The government has divided our mutant abilities into five categories. The most dangerous ones are in Five, the most harmless in One. The fourth class is divided into four sub-sections.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Charles smiles again. “Well, it’s not important.”

“What am I?”

“Does it matter?” His tone is friendly but stern as well. It only triggers my curiosity more. 

Shrugging, I say, “I don’t know. Just out of interest, I guess.”

“I believe labeling people might cause a negative affect on their abilities.”

“Why?”

“Putting a stamp on people, or mark them, shall we say, might dampen their desire to improve or expand their powers. For instance, what would you do if I had written that you will never be able to control your mutation?”

I frown. “I think I’d stop trying.”

“Ah. And what if I’ve written the exact opposite?”

“Then I’d try harder.”

“You’d make such an important decision based upon an assumption only?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not just an assumption. You’re never wrong.”

Charles laughs and shakes his head. “My dear, you’re giving me too much credit. Yes, I’m a powerful mutant, but I’m not an all knowing oracle. I assume just as much as anyone else.”

“So, what are you saying? You don’t know whether or not I’ll be able to control my skin?”

The man in front of me wheels his chair from behind his desk to come a bit closer. On a more fatherly tone, he says. “I have my ideas, and I’d be happy to share them, but I think you have to take my possible influence under careful consideration. What if I’m wrong?”

Biting my lip, I stare at my feet and mutter reluctantly. “Yeah. I guess you have a point.”

“Think about this for a while. If you still want to see your file in a few days, I’ll make sure you have free access to it.”

“Alright. Thanks.” 

Pouting, I return to my piles of paper. 

I hate it when the man is all reasonable.

* * *

Bobby arrives the next morning. We’re having breakfast with Kitty and Pete in the cafeteria. I’ve asked my boyfriend what he thought about the whole mutant-class thing, but he didn’t seem to be all that interested. He was making plans for our vacation. I felt a bit guilty for not being as enthusiastic about our time together in Europe, but this whole secret file-stash is bugging me. Maybe I should become a spy instead of a secretary? I bet Logan can teach me how to sneak around. He does it all the time. 

I’ve also been thinking about what the Professor said about possible control of my skin. Bobby said he still thinks I can control it someday, but I’m not so sure. 

Turning my attention to Kitty, I ask, “Hey, Kit? Do you believe in something like wishful thinking?”

She perks up. “The Pygmalion effect?”

“The what?”

“The Pygmalion effect. A situation that makes someone perform better by stimulating a desire to fulfill a projected expectation, unconsciously or not,” she explains with a straight face, causing Pete to stare at her like she’s an alien. 

That’s what I love about Kit. She’s fun to be around, but you can also actually have a meaningful conversation with her. 

“Yeah.” I nod. “That. Do you believe in the concept?”

She tilts her head to the side and answers, “To a certain extent, yes.”

Bobby and Pete exchange a confused look, but then they return to their own conversation again, probably bored by the subject. I guess they think the latest issue of Spiderman is way more interesting than psychology. 

“Tell me,” I urge her on, and she shifts in her seat, clearly excited to talk about something she’s interested in. 

“It all depends on what kind of personality you have,” she starts. “If you’re a so called ‘pleaser’, the concept will cause more effect than when you’re the stubborn kind who wants to prove others wrong. Unless you practice a case of reverse psychology, of course. If you want to influence someone, you always start with a personality analysis. When the person happens to be the stubborn type, you can always project the reverse expectation to achieve your goal. Although, in a sort of harmless kind of way, *that* approach would be a case of manipulation.”

I take my time thinking about it, stirring in my bowl of cornflakes. 

“Aren’t people more inclined to believe they suck? Projecting something negative is probably more powerful than trying to convince someone to believe they can outdo themselves,” I think out loud, remembering my own experience in that area. 

Kitty shrugs. “I guess it depends on age. If you tell young children they’re the best in what they do, they’ll probably believe it instantly. We become insecure at a later stage. When we’re trying to live up to rules and laws, suppressing our own feelings. It forces us to rely on others to give us an identity.”

“True, I agree, mulling it all over in my head. “So, which one do you think I am? I mean, am I the pleaser or the stubborn one?”

Snorting, Kitty huffs, “Girl, you choose ‘Rogue’ as your name. You do the math.”

Hmm. I guess she has a point.


	26. Chapter 26

Sauna date. I never thought it would really happen, but I’ve been procrastinating long enough. Today I have to get naked with Logan. Well, sorta. 

“Logan?” I call out, walking into something that seems to be some sort of spa area with a wooden cabin situated in the corner. There’s also a shower area, a bubble bath, and several launch chairs. To my horror I also notice there aren’t separate dressing rooms and I’m not wearing my bikini yet. 

“Here,” he returns from inside the cabin, and I hope he’s not naked because suddenly I’m not as tough about this all as I felt this morning. 

I peek in, and he’s still wearing jeans and a shirt, thank God. I’m surprised by the sight of all the woodwork in side. “Hey, this is cool!” 

Looking up from the furnace, he arches an eyebrow. “You never even saw one?” 

“Nope. Looks cozy.” 

He faintly smiles. “It takes a while before it’s fully heated. It’s almost ready. I’ll stay here so you can change.” 

“Thanks.” 

I’m glad he’s considerate about my shyness and not making fun of me, but I can’t help but feel a bit nervous while I slip out of my clothes and into my bikini. I keep glancing over to the cabin to make sure he doesn’t peek. It’s totally ridiculous. When I was drunk, I took a shower in his presence without shutting the door and he didn’t look then either. Not even when I was more or less parading around naked in my search for underwear. Why would he bother to try and catch a glimpse of poisonous skin now? And what would be so horrific about it anyway? 

I never was a prude, but this whole skin-thing is making me act all jumpy when it comes to nakedness nowadays. It sort of comes with the territory, I guess. 

Wrapping a towel around myself, I call out, “Done!” and inspect the showers, eyeing a construction with a barrel on top. I bet, if you pull that chain attached to the barrel, someone is going the get splashed. 

“It’s cold,” Logan says, and I turn around. 

“Huh?” 

He points to the barrel. “The water. It’s cold. You’re supposed to take a cold shower between sessions.” 

He walks over the dressing area where he left his boots already and starts tugging at his shirt, revealing his tanned, muscular back. 

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask him, not very pleased by the thought of cold showers. 

“Nope.” 

Off comes the belt. 

I shouldn’t be staring at him. 

He starts to unbutton his jeans and asks, “So, what do you want me to wear?” 

“Wear?” I echo dumbly, suddenly searching for words because he is undressing himself right in front of me and there is no trace of embarrassment whatsoever. None. There is so much smooth, tanned skin, dark hairs and rolling muscles to look at. I discover that the trail of hair on his stomach continues further down south, and I think my eyes are going to pop out of my skull any time now. “Uhm, I didn’t… I didn’t bring anything. I sorta forgot it was up to me.” 

He shrugs, his thumbs still hooked over the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans. “No big deal. Towel, okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work. I guess. I’ll… uh… I’ll be over there,” I jerk my head to the cabin and turn around to flee into the safe warmth. Not that I wasn’t feeling flaming hot already, but… yeah. Never mind. Holey Mother. Maybe I should’ve taken a drink or two before doing this. I can certainly use a little artificial courage right now. 

I sink down on the wooden bench and swallow hard. 

I’m over him. I’m over him. I. Am. Over. Him. He is just a friend. A very good-looking friend but that’s it. Just. A. Friend. 

“Come out, kid,” Logan orders, “I’ll tell you how it works.” 

“You decent?” 

“Yeah.” 

I hear a smile in his voice. 

Stepping out of the cabin, I realize his definition of being decent is way different from mine. Wearing a sorry excuse for a towel is anything but in my dictionary, and it’s unfair how good he looks in just a piece of fabric. Not only that, he also appears to be completely comfortable while I feel like I want to squirm out of my skin. I bet I feel a lot more naked than he does, and I’m wearing a towel *and* a bikini. But, truth be told, strangely enough I miss my gloves the most. There is so much exposed flesh within my reach I feel like huddling into a corner to avoid any accidental contact. 

Logan obviously doesn’t share my concern. Keeping his distance, he points to the showers. “Just a quick rinse.” 

“Oh, no,” I tell him, taking a few steps back and pointing to the barrel. “Before we start, I wanna know how cold exactly a ‘cold shower’ is supposed to be with *that* thing.” 

He sighs, casts me a look that makes me feel like an annoying brat, but he steps right under the barrel and turns his back to me. Ripping off the towel and handing it out behind him, he orders, “Fine. Hold this.” 

It takes me three seconds to realize I’m supposed to take it instead of staring at his butt. His very *naked* butt. 

“Oh. Right.” 

Dear God, that is one *gorgeous* behind. And it’s just as tanned as the rest of his body. Where the hell is he sunbathing? 

He pulls the chain, and the water splashing over him is *cold*. As in goddamn freezing cold. I’ve been standing way too close.

I shriek and jump back. “Are you out of your friggin’ mind?! No way I’m doing this!” 

Aside from a little shiver, he didn’t move or make a sound. When he runs both hands through his hair, I can’t help but follow the drops of cold water sliding over his goosebumped skin. Then he reaches out behind him for the towel, and somehow I still have the brain to hand it over, making sure our fingers never get a chance to touch. 

Wrapping the fabric around his hips again he turns around. “It’s cold,” he informs me with an amused smirk, holding his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “*This* cold.” 

I stare at those sparkling eyes for a moment before I catch his meaning, but then I giggle. “Well, good thing you’re wearing a towel then, huh? You don’t want to embarrass yourself.” 

“Yep,” he agrees, heading for the cabin. “Your turn.” 

“No way. That thing,” I point to the barrel, “is going to be the death of me. I’m taking a normal shower. Maybe not as hot as usual, but definitely *not* a cold one.” 

I get a raised eyebrow for an answer, and I know it’s his equivalent of telling me I’m a sissy. Well, so be it. I prefer being a sissy over ending up cold and stiff, thank you very much. 

Gasping and shivering, I settle for lukewarm water but it still feels like I’m taking an ice bath in winter. I hate cold showers. I really do. I just can’t handle it. I manage to stand still for about five seconds but then I’m done. Glad to wrap my towel around me again, I slip into the cabin and mutter, “So far, I don’t like this all very much.” 

Logan sits on the lowest bench close to the furnace. He’s got a large towel spread out on the highest one. “Relax, kid. You can go up there. If it’s getting too hot, we’ll switch places.” 

I welcome the warmth and climb up. The chance of an accidental touch is pretty much non-existent, and it’s such a relief. Also, it’s really sweet of him to be so thoughtful while I’m behaving like an ungrateful twit. Everything is safe. There’s no need to fret anymore. I really should relax.

Logan shifts and lies down on the lower bench, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded behind his head. He’s taking over the entire bench and I can’t go down anymore without touching him, so I just follow his example on my own platform. 

After a few minutes of staring at the wooden ceiling in comfortable silence, I’m starting to get really warm. 

Okay… now what? Take off my towel? I do feel a bit silly wearing it in here. I might as well use it as a pillow to get more comfy up here.

Taking it off and folding it up, I sigh. “I bet you think I’m a total prude.” 

“Wrong.” 

“Liar. Don’t you ever feel uncomfortable about something? About the way you look?” 

“Sure.” 

Turning to my side and looking down at him, I ask, “Really? When? Why?” 

He's got his eyes closed, but he holds up a fist. “People usually don’t hitch a ride after seeing what’s inside.” 

Point taken, but I don’t give up that easily. 

“But as long as you don’t pop them, no one will know.” 

“*I* know. Always.”

He’s right, and boy, do I know the feeling. When others see me, they don’t know my skin is dangerous, but *I* do. I’m aware of it, all the time. It makes *me* feel uncomfortable even though I’m completely covered. I never thought Logan would feel the same way about the metal on his bones tough. Then again, he’s only human. Why shouldn’t he feel uncomfortable about it? 

Sighing, I turn on my back again and confess, “I thought the whole naked stuff would be awkward, but for some reason I feel strangely overdressed.”

He wisely doesn’t comment, so I grin and ask, “Aren’t you going ‘I told you so’ on me?” 

“Nope.”

“Thanks, you know. For this. I know I’m a pain in the ass sometimes, but I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.” 

“You’re going mushy again.” 

I giggle. “I know. I’m the mushy kind. Deal with it.” I turn to watch him again. “I also wanted to tell you that I really liked that you stood up for me when you dropped me off at Bobby’s. Maybe I didn’t show it, but I did.” 

He mumbles gruffly, “Made you a promise.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a real good job. Okay, end of the mushiness.” 

And goddamn… that body… The sorry excuse for a towel… 

He suddenly opens his eyes and looks at me. “Do I get a raise?” 

I try to drag my mind out of the gutter. Still, it still sounds kind of flirty when I ask, “What did you have in mind?” 

“Some more trust?” 

Ouch. 

Looking away, I have to agree. “You’re right. I’m sorry for doubting you and all this stuff. It’s just… I’m stupid sometimes. But hey, I’m here now, aren’t I? Naked and all. Sorta.” 

“Yup. Took you long enough.” He gets up and reaches for the door. “It’s time to get wet again.” 

I really can’t help myself. Giggling, I ask, “’Scuse me? What happened to foreplay?” 

The wary look he gives me makes me laugh even harder. “Okay. I’m sorry. You go first. I don’t know if I can handle seeing you naked again.” 

He shakes his head and mutters quasi-shocked, “Southern girls… perverts. All of them.” 

“Ha! Thank God you’re such a boy scout. Things could’ve gone steamy otherwise.” 

He turns around and… oh my… I’m staring into hungry eyes again. With a devilish grin, he answers, “Kid, why do you think I need those showers?” 

Then he’s gone, and I’m left startled, flushed, and a bit out of breath. 

Fuck… He *always* wins these things. One smoldering look and I’m gone. It’s so pathetic. Especially because I know now that it’s a rehearsed expression. He’s probably got it down pat for those *bimbo’s* out there. Ugh. I hate him. And I hate my fluttering heart even more. Traitor. 

I slip out and refuse to look his way. I’m almost welcoming the lukewarm water after the heat in the cabin, and I force myself to think about something else instead of beautiful hazel eyes. Things like… our files. I wonder what Logan will think of it. 

Shivering, I rush back to the cabin where he’s waiting for me to climb back up before he can lie down. When I’m on my platform, I turn to my stomach and ask. “Do you think you can change things just by believing it? Like that whole self-fulfilling prophecy stuff?” 

“No.” 

His short answer amuses me for some reason. He can be so sure of himself sometimes. It’s not the first time I wish I could be more like him. 

“Why not?” 

He closes his eyes again, and my attention instantly goes back to the absurdly little towel stretching around his body. His wet and goddamn magnificent body. 

“If you want something you should go get it.” 

He’s being all serious, and I’m ogling him like a horny little goat. Crap. Bobby’s so gonna kill me. If I don’t kill myself first. 

I try to focus on my hands instead and pick at the towel. “Hmm. And what do you think is a more effective way to encourage a change in someone’s life: telling there is great potential, or telling they suck big time?” 

His eyes instantly alert, he asks, “What’s this all about?” 

“Don’t know exactly. Just thinking out loud, I guess. You know, I don’t see you discussing things like this with Scott.”

“So?”

“He probably thinks you’re not capable of having a normal conversation. It makes me wonder, doesn’t that piss you off? Why don’t you want to convince him you’re way more intelligent than he gives you credit for?” 

He shrugs. “It’s more fun this way.” 

“The good old ace up your sleeve, huh?” 

“Yup.” 

“That means Kitty’s theory doesn’t always work. You’re reversing it in your advantage, no matter what,” I mumble, frowning at the complexity of human behavior in general.

“What theory?”

“Ever heard of the Pygmalion effect?”

“Projected expectations lead to corresponding performance, right?”

“Yeah, but Kitty said it depends on personalities. The pleaser wants to fulfill the projected expectation, the stubborn one wants to prove it wrong so you have to reverse it in order to get the same result. It’s obvious you’re the stubborn one, but you don’t give a damn about what Scott’s projecting. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Slim can project all he wants. I know what I’m worth.”

“But what if you don’t? What if you don’t know your own potential? Or who’re supposed to be?” 

“Then you’re not listening to your gut.” 

“Ugh. Is that your answer to everything?” 

“No, but it’s the answer to this one.” 

Resting my head on my arms, I mutter, “What if your gut tells you you have to hurt people before you’ll be happy?”

“Then you hurt them.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can. I guess… I’m trying to figure out whether I’m the pragmatic or the hopeful kinda type.” 

He snorts. “Hope means disappointment.” 

“No, not always. Sometimes it gives you comfort. Hope can be something for people to hold on to. Like faith. Or a religion.” 

“Disappointment *and* trouble.” 

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a cynic, Logan. Don’t you ever wish for things to turn for the better? For things that you *know* can’t happen, but daydream about anyway?” 

Like, you telling me how much you love me. 

Ugh. Bad example. That was a banned fantasy. Naughty me. Naughty, naughty me. 

He sits up straight and splashes some water over the stones on the furnace. “If I know I can’t or shouldn’t have something, I’ll try to ignore it the best I can.” 

Eyeing his broad shoulders, I say, “But you miss out on so much fun as well. It’s nice to forget about real life and just fantasize a bit.” 

“Hmpf. Fantasies will get you hurt.”

“Whatever. I think I still believe in fate. Like that Red String-legend. That one is kinda cool.” 

He turns around to glare at me. “I thought we were gonna forget that.” 

“No, we were gonna forget *my* part. Not yours,” I point out, grinning. 

‘Says who?” 

“Me. Now, shut up. I wasn’t done yet. I’d like to think fate brought us together.” 

“It’s time for a shower again.” 

Watching him almost hightailing his way out of here, I call after him, “You’re so using that as an excuse!” 

He doesn’t answer.

* * *

I’m in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling completely relaxed. 

Today I’ve learned that I like sauna’s. I like them especially with Logan. Not that I can compare with anyone else, but I can fully admit, going to a sauna is definitely not creepy. As long as no one gets naked. 

It makes me wonder, what would’ve happened if I’d taken off my top? Would Logan have looked? Would he have cared? 

I know the whole sauna-spa stuff isn’t supposed to be a sexual thing, but I’m sure no straight woman in her right mind would’ve let an opportunity to goggle Logan in his naked glory slip. Then again, that body is so goddamn beautiful, how can you *not* look at him?

I have to admit, I really had a hard time keeping my mind from drifting back into the gutter once he got back again. I kept rambling on about nothing in particular, just to make sure my scent wouldn’t change into something embarrassing. He knows it too well. I bet he was able to pick up every little change, so I really hope I managed to keep those hormones under control. 

Too bad the flutters are back in full force again.


	27. Chapter 27

I’m standing in front of a mirror, staring at myself. I see a face contorted with pain, but it’s not mine. Still, I *know* the person in the mirror is me. Hazel eyes signaling a combined message of apology and fear before turning dark, the kind of color I know so well, the dark brown I see in the mirror every day. 

Surprised by this almost holographic experience in the mirror, I touch my skin. The rough stubble feels both foreign and yet strangely familiar under my exploring fingertips, and with a certain amount of anxiety, I wait for the pull to start. When it does, I feel my energy flowing out of my face and into my hand. It’s an exchange of life force, pulling and pushing, along with several memories that are mine, and yet, they’re completely new at the same time. 

Slowly, my skin seems to disappear from the part where I’m touching my face. It vanishes, evaporates to reveal the dark silvery glow of metal my skull is laced with. I vaguely wonder if I can still get my own energy when I don’t have any skin left to touch, but I never find out. 

Next thing I know, I’m sitting up straight in my bed, slightly disoriented and dizzy, gasping for air while my nails are digging into my cheekbone. My face suddenly feels strangely smooth under my hand. Soft. There’s not pull. There’s… nothing? 

Oh… it was a dream. Only a dream. A bad one, but still… 

Trying to swallow past a lump in my throat, I tell myself there’s no need to worry. I’m in my own bed, in my own room, and then I jump up and rush to the bathroom to make sure I’m still in my own body. 

Yep, there I am. Dark eyes, white streaks, no facial hair. That’s me alright. 

Staring at my reflection, I wonder what triggered the nightmare. My fear of touching Logan in the sauna? His comment about the constant awareness of the metal on his bones? I don’t know, but I suddenly feel the urge to check on him and see if he’s okay. Just to calm my nerves. 

Tiptoeing through the softly lit corridors, I head for his room. When I reach his door, I feel a bit silly. Now what? Knock and disturb his precious sleep just because I had a weird dream? Maybe I can just take a peek to see if he’s okay and then leave again. Yeah. Sounds like a plan. 

The moment I quietly open the door, he jerks and sits up with a strangled groan. I let out a small yelp myself before I cover my mouth with my hand and whisper, “It’s me.” 

“You okay?” he asks, clearly coming out of a nightmare himself and still panting. 

“Yeah.”

The tension leaves his body instantly. His shoulders relax while he rubs one hand over his face. “Jesus...”

Quickly moving over the threshold to close the door behind me, I try to adjust my eyes to the dark. “I’m sorry. I had a bad dream as well. I just… wanted to see if you were okay.”

That sounded stupid.

“I am,” he assures me. “Did you have one of mine?”

“No. Well, sort of.” I carefully walk over this his bed and sit down. “This was a weird one. A combination of yours and mine from the night you… the first night I tried to wake you up.”

Even in the dark I can see him observing me with those always-watchful eyes. He probably noticed my correction, but I didn’t want to say ‘the night you stabbed me’. It sounds so… I don’t know… accusing, somehow. He doesn’t mention it though. Instead, he asks, “A combination?”

“Yeah. Usually the point of view is either yours or mine, now it was both. Sort of. It was like we were one, but not.” I frown, trying to dig up the images again because that sounds stupid as well. “Or maybe… well, never mind. It’s been months since I had a nightmare linked to you, so let’s not make a fuss. I’m sorry I woke you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Maybe you should talk to Hank,” he suggests, but I disregard his idea with a gesture of my hand. 

“Nah. I’m fine again.”

“I mean about the combining viewpoints,” he clarifies, and I bite my lip. 

“You think so? It’s probably one of those stilly dream things. I don’t want to bother him with stuff like that.”

“I think you should. If it’s been months…. Why is it coming back now?”

“Alright,” I give in, rolling my eyes to show him my reluctance, “If you insist. Anyway, I should go back.”

I hop off the bed and walk to the door. He stops me by offering, “Want me to stay with you the rest of the night?” 

That’s really sweet but not a good idea. I’m still trying to recover from the sight of that tiny towel stretching around his body in the sauna. Seeing him in my bed is *not* going to make me fall asleep, that’s for sure. 

Smiling, I answer, “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

Oh, how temping…

“Yeah. Thanks. See you tomorrow at four, right?”

Because I’ve been to the sauna, so now it’s my turn to teach him to dance.

I can see him smile in the dark. “I’ll bring my blue suede shoes.”

Yeah, and I’ll try to leave my libido in my room.

* * *

Woohoo! I’m gonna have fun today! Finally I’m going teach the big lug something instead of the other way around. I’m so determined to make him shake his booty, I can’t wait until this afternoon. 

I’m running down the stairs to get something to eat before I’m gonna go to see Hank, and I almost bump into ‘Ro. 

“Oops! Sorry!” I apologize, looking over my shoulder but not bothering to slow down. 

“Good morning to you too, honey,” her melodious voice greets back. 

When I enter the kitchen, I see Scott reading the newspaper on the kitchen island while Logan is pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Morning y’all,” I say, walking up behind my buddy and taking the shameless liberty to put my hands on his hips. “Today’s the day, sugar.” I press myself against his back and shake my butt while I sing, “Dançando lambada eh, dançando lambada la!”

“Whoa.” His coffee almost ends up next to his mug. “Shit.”

We obviously have Scott’s attention because he asks, “What’s this all about?”

Jumping up to sit on the kitchen counter, I explain with a grin, “Gonna teach that grumpy old man over there how to put those hips into use today.”

Logan leans against the fridge and scowls at the floor. “Trust me, kid. I know already.”

He’s either had a bad night - obviously my fault, or he’s pissed at Scott once again. 

I snag a donut from the dish and take a huge bite. Not bothering to wait until my mouth’s empty, I return, “I’m sure you do, but I guess I want to see for myself.”

“Oh, you will.” His tone is gruff, but the promise is delivered with devilish smirk. 

And I suddenly forget how to chew. 

Please, don’t let me drool here in front of the Team Leader.

Scott looks from me to Logan and then back to me again, his newspaper forgotten. “Right. Well, good luck, Rogue. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”

“Nah, I can take him,” I shoot back playfully. “But if I need reinforcements, I know where to find you.”

Logan keeps quiet, obviously ignoring our banter, but my good mood seems to rub off on Scott because he answers my smile with one of his own. 

“How about some private lessons? I can use a few to freshen my memory.”

“You can dance?” I ask, taken aback a little, and he nods, standing up and precisely folding his paper. 

“Sure. Jean wanted me not to embarrass myself on our wedding day, so she dragged me to the dance school every Thursday night for five months.”

“Cool. How about Monday night?”

“Monday night, I’m yours,” he agrees while he carefully picks up his mug and tucks the paper under his arm. When he’s almost at the door, he turns around and shows me a wonderful smile. “It’s a date.” 

I swear, he just winked at me from behind his visor. I can’t help but giggle, but Logan isn’t amused at all. 

“Asshole,” he curses, and I hate the way they’re always on each other’s nerves.

“What did he do?” I ask, finishing the donut.

“Nothing. Later.”

He jams his half empty mug on the counter next to me and stomps out of the kitchen, leaving me wondering what the hell that was all about.

* * *

“Unification?” I repeat, staring at Hank like he’s grown another head, “What do you mean? Like, the Logan in my head and the real me are becoming one or something?”

The blue doctor readjusts his glasses before stuffing his huge hands in the pockets of his white lab coat. “Yes, Rogue. It appears you are integrating Logan’s personality into yours.”

“Oh. Is that bad? I mean, what are the consequences? And why is this happening now? It’s been a year since I last touched him. I thought all personalities were fading.”

“The others might have faded, but apparently you have adapted Logan in a way where it isn’t noticeable for you when he’s taking over. I do not know why this is occurring at his particular moment, but I might be able to offer a theory after a few more tests.”

Ugh. I hate tests. 

Glaring, I mutter, “I really don’t like needles and stuff.”

He studies me like I’m in interesting case, and it’s giving me the creeps, but then he smiles reassuringly, which is quite a gift when you have menacing looking fangs. “Just a few questions, dear.”

Sighing, I flop down on a nearby chair. “Well, alright. Fire away.”

“Have you noticed any inexplicable changes into your behavior recently?” he asks while he walks around his desk, sits down as well and starts typing on his keyboard. 

“Like what?”

“Do you experience emotions on a different level of intensity, perhaps?”

“Uhm, no. Not really,” I think out loud, but then I correct myself. “Well, I caught myself growling a few times. And… uh… I saw Logan in the Danger Room, slitting someone’s throat. I wondered what all that blood would smell like. Taste like even. Is that… weird?”

He looks up, his blue eyes peering over his reading glasses while he seriously seems to think about my question. 

“Assuming those emotions are originally Logan’s, it is quite normal. The nature of his mutation, similar to mine, is quite animalistic.”

“Oh. Okay. And uh… talking about animalistic,” I look around to see if we’re really alone, “lately, I uh…. I think I sorta lost my more romantic feelings. I mean, when it comes to… certain aspects in a relationship. I want… I want things to be a bit more… passionate?”

I glance over at him, hoping he gets my meaning and in the meantime cursing my blushing cheeks. But Hank, never the one easily shocked or upset, merely nods and mumbles, “I see.”

“It’s a bitch, you know. I mean, I’ve got all these feelings, so… wild, but I have to stay completely covered and careful while I just want rough… well, you know. You think that’s Logan’s influence as well?”

Oh. My. God. Anna-Marie D’ancanto, *please* shut up!

“It certainly is a possibility,” Hank absently confirms, typing like a madman and readjusting his glasses once again. 

I heave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I thought I was getting a bit, you know, slutty.”

Smiling, he looks up again and answers, “Well, dear, even if it is all you, there is nothing wrong with feeling… passionate. You’re a healthy young woman. It doesn’t make you promiscuous in any way.”

Thankful for having such a diplomat for a doctor, I smile back and feel much better already.

* * *

At four o’ clock I peek around the door into the gym. Logan’s there already, dressed in jeans, a tight fitting t-shirt, and boots. There is a pair of gloves sticking out of his back pocket. Smiling, I ask, “Where are the blue suede’s?”

“Didn’t match my outfit,” he returns easily, and it seems he’s in a better mood than this morning. 

I walk up to the CD-player and sort out the music. “I’ve talked to Hank.”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“I’m becoming you. Well, sorta. The you in my head is merging into my own personality.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

His remorseful response makes me look over my shoulder. 

He’s turned away from me, feelings carefully hidden, but for some reason I can read him as clearly as neon lights in the night. The guilt and self-loathing is evident in the weary stoop of his shoulders even though he’s holding his head up high. 

“No, it’s okay,” I assure him. “Side effects are a growl now and then and… uh… some more primal urges, but I can live with that.”

He turns to meet my eyes. “Can’t Chuck separate us?”

“No, it’s too late. It turns out my body is already adjusting to a new permanent personality. I’m gonna do some tests with the Professor and Hank to see if maybe I still have your powers as well.” 

“My powers?” He narrows his eyes. “But you told me you got the flu while I was away.”

I nod. “Yeah, and I’ve lost most of your knowledge as well, but Hank thinks maybe I’ve been storing you somewhere until my body is used to it. Like a new, secondary mutation or something. No wonder I’m having a bit of an identity crisis.”

He doesn’t share my lack of concern. He sinks down against the wall, pulls up his legs and rests his arm on his knees. “Great. Just what you need.”

I walk up to him and crouch down, keeping my balance by holding onto his lower arms. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Really. Hank’s going to take some blood samples tomorrow to see if my DNA is changing.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. So let’s dance and celebrate our platonic merge.”

He snorts. 

“Don’t sulk, Logan. You’ll get wrinkles.”

“I’ll heal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t rub it in. Come on. Dance.” I stand up and do a single pirouette. “Dance and embrace happiness.”

“I don’t think dancing is going to make me happy, kid.”

“No? What do you usually do when you’re feeling wonderful?”

“Probably having an orgasm,” he mutters, still glaring at the floor. 

His reply makes me laugh. “Well, that would make things a bit messy right now. Let’s just stick to dancing. Get up.”

He does, taking his gloves and putting them on. “Fine. Now what?”

“Dancing is about expressing emotions,” I tell him, raising my heels off the ground and balancing on the balls of my feet while I waltz around the room with an imaginary partner. “It’s a way to translate feelings into motion, just like fighting, or tai Chi. Considering I want us to have fun here, you have to think *really* happy thoughts.” I stop in front of him again. “So… what thought would make you happy right now?”

He promptly replies, “Beer in a quiet bar.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help but giggle. “No way. You’re not getting away with this. I had to get semi-naked for you, you shake your butt for me.”

Now he smirks. “You have some kinky fantasies.”

“I blame your influence,” I shoot back, smiling. “Now, I don’t think you’re a ballroom kinda guy. Latin is probably more suitable, so take your pick: The Samba, Cha-Cha, Rumba, Paso Doble, or the Jive.”

“What’s the difference?”

“In short, the Samba is a happy dance, cheery, rhythmical and fast. The Cha-Cha is a bit slower and it’s flirty in a playful kinda way. The Rumba is slow and sensual, and it’s all about seduction and eroticism. The Paso Doble is the dance-version of bull fighting. The man is the matador, the woman is the cape. It’s danced with pride and dignity, and it’s a very strong, manly dance. Last the Jive, it’s rhythmical and swinging. The fastest of them all with lots of kicking and stuff.”

“What do you suggest?”

I bite my lip and walk back to the CD player. “Hmm, at least the Paso Doble. That’s a nice one for you, I think. Maybe you can pick another so we have a bit of variety. We’ll only do the base today. If you like it, we can work it out from there.”

“Okay. Rumba.” 

Whoa, didn’t see that one coming. 

Surprised, I turn around. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Well, it’s… like… close. And with a lot of hip movement. And touching. It’s a lover’s dance.”

“So?”

So… I don’t think I can curl myself around him while I can’t bite or lick him somewhere.

“So… nothing,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to ignore the images my perverted brain is picturing me. “Let’s get started.”


	28. Chapter 28

If you want see perfection turned into something tangible, take a look at Logan’s body. I thought making him shake his booty would be something fun, something to laugh over, but I know better now. It’s absolute and complete torture. For me, that is. The man himself doesn’t seem to be aware of the hell he’s putting me through. 

I’ve tried to teach him the basic steps of the rumba by showing them myself first, and he observed me with those intense eyes, memorizing every movement. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so self-conscious and awkward in my entire life during dancing. I can actually *feel* him watching me. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He wasn’t leering or anything. He was taking in the choreography, processing the data instantly so it allowed him to copy my steps with scary accuracy. 

The control he has over his body, the way he’s able to translate image to perfect motion… it’s really amazing. He was able to dance the basic steps up until the Silver level within half an hour. His poise, his timing; it was perfect. I honestly couldn’t find a flaw, and I couldn’t teach him more because Silver is all I have. 

Because the Paso Doble doesn’t really have basics, I’m getting my DVD’s to show him a beautiful Rumba and Paso Doble for more advanced dancers. I’m convinced he’s able to dance them just by looking at the screen. The only problem is, this rumba might be a bit too much. A bit too sexy. The dancers are more or less stuck together, rubbing, flirting, and caressing, and at one point the man nuzzles the woman’s breasts. I think I’ll suggest skipping that part. I’m having enough trouble to concentrate already. Jesus Christ…

Hastily I grab my DVD’s, change into a tight, long sleeved black turtleneck in case Logan does *not* want to skip the breast-nuzzling part, so help me God, and I slip into my black jazz pants. That should do it. I can move easily, but I’m completely protected. Too bad I don’t have a circle skirt. It’s a must for the Paso Doble, but I solve it by wrapping a silk, triangle-shaped shawl around my waist. 

Checking the result in the mirror, I ignore my flushed cheeks and feverish eyes. The next two hours will be all about self-control. Here I go.

* * *

“You can dance like that?” Logan asks after silently watching the two scenes while I feel quite jittery, sitting next to him on the floor. Seeing the intimate closeness of the couples is one thing, knowing I’m going to copy their intimacy with Logan is another. 

“It’s a combination of two people. I can’t do it if my partner can’t,” I answer, fumbling with the tassels of my shawl. “I figured we could give it a try because you’re really good.”

He stops the disk and presses play to watch it again. “Where did you learn this stuff?”

“My parents liked to dance. I tagged along when I was little. I took a few courses, and did a few years of ballet, jazz and street dance as well.”

“That looks good,” he pauses again and plays the ending of the Paso Doble in slow motion, observing the moves. “It’s like he unwraps her.”

I nod, admiring the complete trust the woman has in the man. “He does. She represents his cape, so in a way she’s just a tool for him to show off with. This is a man’s dance, the woman is supposed to be the submissive one. If he doesn’t use her, she’ll be passive. More than any other dance the man has to guide the woman in this one. All she does is follow."

He glances over and smirks. “So I have your permission to bend you to my will and make you do whatever I want?"

Smiling, I nudge him in the side with my elbow. “To a certain extent, yes.”

“Fair enough.” 

He locks his eyes with the screen again and I nervously wait for the breast nuzzling part to come. Trying to sound casual I suggest, “We don’t have to do exactly everything. Some things might be dangerous, with my skin and all.”

Okay, so that skin part is an excuse. I’m so covered he has to make an effort to touch bare skin somewhere other than my face. 

“Nah, it’s okay.” He then looks over to me and adds, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Crap. I don’t want to play the part of prude twit again. 

“No. No, it’s… fine.”

He jumps to his feet and holds out his hand. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

Crap. Crap. Double crap.

* * *

He’s down on one knee and I stand behind him, my hands on his shoulders. His back is straight, chin held up high and proud like a true matador, one hand resting on his thigh, waiting for the first notes of the Bolero to start. As soon as we hear the drum, he gracefully raises his other arm while I do the same with mine. Our hands meet in the air, and he guides me next to him. 

Together we slowly move forward, Logan still on his knees, like he wants to make sure the virtual public will pay attention to me, his ‘capa’. After three paces, I have to stride around him, making it look like he swirls the capa over his head. 

He stands up and takes me in his arms to guide me in any direction he wants, and again I’m amazed how tall he is. And strong. We’ve been rehearsing this dance for the past hour and he’s got it down pat. The way my poor muscles protest, I feel like I’ve jumped into his arms a thousand times to get the ending right, but he doesn’t seem tired at all. 

We’ve decided he’s not going to wear gloves. He doesn’t have a good grip when he has to grab my wrist and the crook of my knee when I roll down his body towards to ground, and I really don’t want to crash at his feet. Since he doesn’t have to touch my face, everything’s safe anyway.

Turning me around, I feel the belt buckle poking into my back when we move forward. He spins us around, keeping the tension in his upper body at all times, flexing muscles under tight control. If I wasn’t so focused on these steps, I’d be swooning. 

Usually the Paso Doble is faster than our version, but I love Ravel’s Bolero so much we’ve adjusted the pace to the strong, sensual rhythm of the masterpiece. Downside is that it’s harder to keep your poise in a slow dance, but Logan doesn’t have trouble keeping his balance, and I can lean on him to steady myself. 

When I swirl away from him and come to a halt a few paces away, he walks up to me with a determined possessiveness. I mirror his movements in the next figure, not touching him at all, but I can hardly stand the superiority lurking in those fiery eyes he keeps locked with mine. The thought of him dominating me… it makes me almost crazy with want. 

It’s like all the suppressed feelings from the past few months are suddenly washing over me and crushing every sense of dignity. I’m this close to begging him to take me right here, right now, but when I actually put my arms around his waist, I manage to keep going the way we’ve been rehearsing the past hour. I kneel, and my eyes are at the same height as the buckle. I curse the metallic Indian who seems to smugly smile down on me like he knows I’ll never unbuckle him for as long as I live. 

I probably won’t live long though. This dance is going to be the death of me, I’m sure. 

I let go, and Logan dances his short solo while I prepare myself for the grand finale by doing a little pirouette. I sink down to the ground, grab his hands, and he yanks me back up. I more or less dive into his arms, and instantly I feel one hands closing around my wrist while the other hooks around my thigh to find the crook of my knee. I fearlessly roll down his body to come to an abrupt halt a few inches from the ground.

Done. 

And I’m still alive. That means one down, one to go. 

“Whoa,” I gasp. “That was so cool.”

He gently lowers me to the ground and I stay there, turning to my back. He drops the whole ‘proud matador’ attitude and flops down next to me. “Nice workout.” 

I know I’m stalling when I suggest, “How about we take a little break, get something to drink and then pick up the Rumba again?”

“I’ll get them. Diet coke okay?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

He bolts energetically to his feet and I close my eyes to prepare myself for the next dance. I must be out of my mind to put myself through this. Am I suicidal? Or maybe just plain dumb? I should have known I’d fall crazy in love with him again while we passionately circle around each other. What was I thinking? 

Uh… never mind. I wasn’t really thinking at all when I suggested all of this. I was standing between his thighs in Shots & Shooters, hiding my face against his shoulder while he had his hand on my ass. Yep, now I remember. Well, it sure wasn’t my smartest proposal. Maybe next time I should stick with teaching him how to play chess.

* * *

Somebody, please kill me. This is goddamn foreplay. I think I prefer his claws in my chest over this slow, lazy exploration of each other’s body under the false pretence of art. 

His hands are all over me, and yet, he never touches me somewhere inappropriate. Not even accidentally. It only frustrates me more. Why does he have to be so damn honorable? So righteous? He must know how much I want him. I’m sure my scent betrays me, so why doesn’t he take advantage of it? This holding back is driving me crazy. It’s almost making me scream, craving for something more, something real. Something I know I’ve never experienced and probably never will. 

Spending my time so close to him has been a wakeup call to my body. Every single cell seems to be reaching out to him, but he’s being a gentleman and doesn’t even playfully flirt with me. I’m so glad we’re about to perform the whole dance for the last time, I seriously can’t take another hour in his presence today. 

“Ready?” I ask, taking the begin pose and waiting for the next song to start. 

“Yep.” He stands behind me and I feel his warmth radiating through my clothes. 

Please, don’t let the next song be ‘Hero’ from Enrique Iglesias again. That was so embarrassing. Logan arched an eyebrow and commented dryly, ‘Appropriate music’ when he heard it. I think I just about wanted the earth to swallow me. I also more or less fainted during golden oldie ‘How deep is your love’ from the Bee Gees. I think God wants to punish me for something I did in a previous life. 

Luckily, this time it’s the relatively neutral song ‘Golden eye’ from Tina Turner. Well, okay, so the lyrics ‘you'll never know how I watched you from the shadows as a child, you'll never know how it feels to be so close and be denied’ are damn fitting, but I’d rather ignore it, thank you very much. 

I raise my arms, he captures them and forces me to turn around. I kneel down to sit on the floor, and he places his foot in front of mine so I’ll have a lever when he pulls me up again. I jump up and cling onto him with desperate need, my legs around his waist. I seriously don’t have to pretend that part. It’s all very, very real. 

He bends, taking me along in his arms, and I just have to hold on. When he straightens back up, I’ll slowly slide down over his hip and upper leg, our faces barely an inch apart. We breathe each other’s breath for a split second, but then my feet hit the ground and he takes the required step backwards. This game of attraction and rejection is almost driving me insane. 

As we dance in perfect synchronization, I feel like I’m radiating lust from every pore. It’s in my eyes, in my scent, and in the way I move. If Logan only picks up half my signals, he still must be feeling either awfully awkward or incredibly smug, but I can’t check his expression right now. I’m too busy pressing my cheek against his taut stomach while he sensually rubs his pelvis against my breasts. 

Guh. 

Moving up so I stand straight again, he buries his face in my hair the moment Tina sings, “On the wind I feel his breath”. According to the chorography I have to push him away now, and… oh, to feel his abdominal muscles under the palms of my hands. How I wish to touch his bare stomach. To lick his bare stomach. To… damnit! Concentrate!

Frustrated beyond belief, I’m suddenly determined to make him see I’m no longer the kid he wants me to be. I unleash my desire and dance less shyly, more sexually aggressive than I did so far. He instantly seems to respond, because we didn’t rehearse the way his hand forcefully tangles into my hair to show me he’s in control of both the dance and my body. 

Something is happening between us. I’m not sure what it is, but this is not the tender, loving dance we’ve been rehearsing this past hour. This is suddenly the rough, untamed version, and it turns me on like nothing has ever done. 

When I raise my arms and let him bend me backwards so he can, indeed, nuzzle my breasts, I can’t hold back a longing moan while I pull my leg up to hook around his waist. I feel his warm breath gushing through the fabric of my shirt, and it makes my nipples respond instantly. My heart skips a beat, and I’m suddenly aware of the wetness between my legs. So is Logan apparently, because he doesn’t pull me up. He keeps me in his arms, my back arched, my hip pressed against his crotch. When I raise my head to see what’s going on, I meet a pair of golden, smoldering eyes. 

It’s making me shiver in both panic and excitement, so I nervously try to joke my way out of this. 

“Sugar, is that your buckle poking into my leg, or are you just happy to hold me?”

His intense stare doesn’t falter. With a dangerously deep voice, he returns, “Why don’t you find out?”

Oh, God. I swear I can detect a change in his scent. Do I still have his senses just like Hank told me? Whatever the case, this is what I’ve been dreaming about. This is what I’ve been wanting all this time. Logan seeing me as a sexual creature, and, if I’m feeling things right, he’s about to make me his. 

So why do I feel so godddamn uneasy all of a sudden? 

“It’s not… it’s not in the choreography,” I try meekly, lowering my leg and grabbing his upper arms to steady myself the best I can while I’m still hanging in his arms. 

He doesn’t let me off the hook that easily. Keeping me caged in his dominant embrace, one hand in my hair, he almost growls in my neck, “We’ll make our own.”

God, yes. I’m all yours. I mean, no! Oh, fuck, no. This is wrong. I have a boyfriend. I can’t do this. This… whatever it is we’re doing right now.

Swallowing hard, my voice is nothing but a quivery whisper. “But… I’m not… experienced enough.”

Tilting his head to the side like a predator seizing up his prey, he asks, “What do you in your room when Popsicle’s here? Play Scrabble?”

Again I swallow hard. “Let’s just say we don’t… uh… dance a lot.”

Those seem to be the magic words, because the dangerous glint in the hungry eyes immediately disappears and he pulls me up. “His loss.”

He turns us around and continues the dance, and for a split second I’m too confused to think. Still, he guides me well. I’m able to follow his lead easily, but my legs are unsteady and my brain is all foggy. How I manage to get to the ending, I have no idea. I don’t even hear the music anymore. I don’t count the steps. I just move in a daze with ringing ears and burning cheeks until Logan lies down with me on top of him. It wakes me up, knowing we’re almost done, and when he easily lifts me up to balance me right above him, I spread my arms and will my body to keep still. He carefully lowers me back on top of him again, and I jump up and out of reach as soon as I can.

“That was… that was wonderful,” I babble, walking over to the CD player so my back is conveniently turned to him. “But I suddenly remember I have a movie date with Jubes tonight. I have to hurry up and change or else I’m late.”

It’s not even a lie. I do have a date with Jubes, but I’ve got plenty of time still. 

He doesn’t say anything. I think he’s still on the floor, but I’m too edgy to seek his eyes. 

Clutching the CD’s and DVD’s against my chest, I almost run to the door. “Sorry I have to leave like this. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye!”

Not waiting for his answer, I flee into the hallway, sprint to the elevator, and when the doors close behind me, I rest against the cool, metal wall, my stomach in a knot and my heart racing. 

Three days until my vacation. Three days to avoid him and make sure I can stay calm when I see him again. 

What the hell happened back there? Did he want me? Was he actually seducing me? 

The low rumble of his voice still echoes in my head, ‘Why don’t you find out?’

My God… did I really turn him down?

The thought I maybe could’ve had him if I hadn’t chickened out almost pushes me into hysteria. I’ve been wanting him so badly it sometimes physically hurt, and yet I managed to act like a trembling little girl the moment he makes a serious move. 

Because it was a serious move, wasn’t it? Wasn’t he just playing with my feelings? Toying with mind? Testing the waters? No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d never do something like that. It was real. It really was something real, and this might become complicated, because I have a boyfriend, damnit. We can’t… this can’t happen. 

I don’t want to break Bobby’s heart. I also don’t want to throw myself at Logan’s feet so he can fuck the living daylights out of me, and then leave me to move on to the next available slut. Bobby is working so hard to provide us a good future. He is clear about his intentions. He wants me to live with him, to move in with him. He doesn’t want me for a quick fuck. He wants me for keeps. It’s too valuable to waste for getting laid with Logan just once. Because that’s what it would be. A one-time fling. He couldn’t possibly want me for a relationship. He doesn’t do relationships, and certainly not with someone who’s untouchable. 

Sighing, I drag myself to my room and lock it behind me. I drop my stuff on my desk and flop on my bed. 

Damnit, I so need a vacation.


	29. Chapter 29

Why is dancing with Scott simply fun between friends, while dancing with Logan feels like sex in disguise? Why do I nearly pee myself from laughing when Scott pretends to be my lover, and why do I wet myself in an entirely different way when Logan does the same? 

“All packed?”

I freeze on the spot, all thoughts suddenly lost when I hear Logan’s voice from the doorway of my room. I’ve managed to avoid him these past three days, and I really didn’t expect him to show up at my doorstep otherwise I would’ve locked the door. 

Swallowing hard, I try to get my act together and dig up a smile before I look over my shoulder and say, “Almost.”

Oh, does he look good. How does he manage to make rolled up sleeves look so sexy? Why does he have to show off those muscled arms anyway? And why do my hands itch to touch his exposed skin? 

Despite the fact that I’m almost drooling in my suitcase, I don’t forget my manners. “Won’t you come in?”

Maybe he senses my awkwardness, because he doesn’t move. “Nah. Just passing through. Haven’t seen you around lately.”

Busted. I didn’t think he’d notice because he’s usually gone, except for Fridays. 

“I’ve been busy. Shopping and stuff. You know, so uh… are you gonna be around when I leave tomorrow?”

The direct, piercing gaze is making me even more nervous and antsy. “Need a ride?”

“No. Scott’s taking us to the airport. I just wanna know if I should say goodbye now.”

He faintly smiles and keeps his eyes locked with mine. “You gonna go mushy on me again?”

I curse my twisting insides. “Probably.”

“In that case,” he steps in and closes the door behind him. “I’m all yours.”

God, I so wish. The things I’d do…. 

Chastising those thoughts, I force myself to walk over to him for a quick, friendly hug, but the moment my arms snake around his waist, I can’t help but keep them there. Taking a deep sniff, I press my bare hands flatly against his back, and my cheek against his chest. Oh, he smells so good… 

His arms close around me as well, and he rests his chin on top of my head. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” I mumble against his shirt, and I really, really don’t want to let go just yet.

“Call me if there’s trouble.”

“Then what? You’re gonna be God-knows-where and I’ll be in Europe.”

“We have a Jet,” he reminds me, and I look up, catching serious, hazel eyes.

“You’ll come and get me?”

“That’s rhetorical, right?”

Rolling my eyes, I smile and rest my face against his chest again. “Now *you’re* the one who’s going mushy on me, bub.”

“Why do you think I’ve closed the door?”

“Well, I can think of a thing or two,” I return a bit giggly, but then I catch myself and bite my tongue. Damnit. I wasn’t gonna do this anymore.

There is a moment of awkward silence before he warns, “Don’t tempt me again, Marie.”

I blink, trying very hard to suppress all these conflicted feelings inside of me. Do I really want to discuss this right now? Do I want to discuss it at all? 

Yes. Yes, I do. Because I can’t move on if I don’t know where we stand exactly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, taking a step back. “As I recall, *you* were the one who suddenly wanted to change the routine.” 

He doesn’t bother to explain himself. He just stares at me, an arrogant glint in his eyes, and it seems like he’s… searching for something?

For some reason I really want to slap him right now. It always pisses me off when I have to guess for answers. I didn’t tempt anyone. Well, not consciously. We sometimes flirt for fun, but I can’t control my scent. Besides, he’s the one who picked the fucking *Rumba*, for God’s sake. It’s all his fault things got a bit out of hand. He suddenly went all Casanova on me.

I don’t know if he’s found what he was looking for, but he looks away and sighs, running a hand through this hair. When it’s obvious he’s not going to say anything, I decide it's better to continue packing and leave things unsaid. “Fine,” I huff, fed up with him and his confusing behavior. “Let’s not talk about it then. Are we done?”

I turn my back to him again and try to remember what I’d been doing. 

“I don’t know. Are we?”

I close my eyes and growl quietly. 

Seriously, he’s pissing me off so much right now. What is he doing? Is he trying to pick a fight or something? Because if he is, I’m not going to give it to him. I’m not going to part ways being angry at each other for some unknown reason. I’m going to be the mature one here.

“Yes, we are. For now.” I fold a sweater and try to keep my cool. “So… wherever you go, be careful, okay? I want you back in one piece.”

Because you’re mine. I hate you right now, although I’m not even sure why, but you’re mine anyway. Even if I can’t have you. 

“Ditto.” 

I look at him again, and the laid-back answer comes with a dark, penetrating stare. It makes me shiver, and I suddenly wonder if he knows what I’d been thinking. 

Again, he’s the first to look away. Stuffing one hand in the pocket of his jeans, he opens the door with the other. “Okay. Have fun.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“Tags?”

The blank stare tells me he didn’t expect me to want them this time, but then his expression changes and he asks, “You sure your *boyfriend* can handle it?”

How he manages to always make the word ‘boyfriend’ sound so sarcastic is beyond me. Like Bobby and I don’t have a real relationship. Like we’re pretending. Like it’s *cute* we’re trying to be adults. It’s pissing me off even again. 

Mirroring his derisive smirk, I return, “My *boyfriend* isn’t jealous of you anymore. He *knows* I love him.”

I think. I hope. The tags will stay hidden around my wrist and under my glove. He’ll never know. 

He snorts. “Right. You keep telling yourself. Wishful thinking might exist after all.”

He turns around and swaggers away, and I just about explode inside.

I run up and call after him, “Stop talking in riddles and just *say* what you mean, damnit!”

“Try listening,” he snaps back, not bothering to turn around. “Tags coming up.”

“Keep the damn scrap!” I shout through the hallway. “It’s a childish tradition anyway!”

With those words, I smash the door closed to make my statement a bit more definite, but when everything stays quiet on the other side, I lean against the woodwork and wonder what the hell just happened that made me so worked up.

God, I’m so glad I’m leaving. A few weeks without him around will do me good. I really need to get him out of my system. He’s driving me insane.

* * *

The moment my alarm startles me awake, I feel a foreign weight and warmth next to me, sitting on the mattress. Before my hand hits the clock, I instinctively know it’s Logan. 

“What do you want?” I groan, clearly not in the best mood to continue fighting.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is low and hoarse, and I briefly wonder how long he’s been here before curling myself around him. “Me too.”

It stays quiet for a few moments, and I try to stay awake and figure out why we were fighting the first place. 

Something about the tags. And Bobby. I think. To be honest, I still don’t really understand what happened. Maybe I should ask?

Putting my head on his thigh, I mumble, “Maybe it’s me, but what was the fight about?”

He sighs. “Something’s got me ticked. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. I should be going.” He shifts a bit and I look up. His eyes briefly roam over my face before glancing over to the door. “So… we’re good?”

Sensing his anxiety to leave, I nod and move back to my pillow. “Yeah. Absolutely.” 

When he stands up and crosses my room in about three steps, I ask, “You don’t happen to have your tags with you, huh?”

My request makes him flinch for a split second. If I wasn’t watching him so closely, I wouldn’t have noticed. 

“You still want them?”

Remembering my harsh words yesterday, I feel my cheeks flush red and I’m forced to look away. “If you don’t mind. I mean, maybe it’s a childish tradition,” I shrug and carefully glance over to check his reaction, “but it’s *our* tradition. Right?”

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and for some reason it makes me sad. 

“Gimme a few minutes.”

“If I’m in the bathroom, just leave them on my desk, okay? See you in a couple of weeks?”

“You betcha.” 

The moment he disappears into the hallway, I bite my lip and try to shake off that guilty feeling of being the cause of the hurt he tries to hide. Because that would be ridiculous. Why would *he* be hurt?

* * *

Europe. Finally!

Despite my awkward goodbye with Logan, I’m having a wonderful time here. Bobby and I have spent three days in Rome, four in Paris, and we’re a week in London. We’ve tried to visit as much of the tourist’s places as possible, but we have to watch the costs. It’s friggin’ expensive here. 

We’re going home in a few days, but tonight we’re going see a musical. I expected Bobby to complain about the fact he has to sit still that long, but so far there’s not a peep. I know I can see pretty much anything on Broadway, but hey, the billboard of the Royal National Theatre promised me a handsome actor as the leading man. I just couldn’t resist the boyish smile and sparkling, hazel eyes. I’m willing to pay good money to see those in real life. It’ll be worth it.

It’s nice to be here with my boyfriend without the whole mansion or Bobby’s parents watching over our shoulder. For some reason things have been going really smooth these past days. I’m completely comfortable around him here. I can be *me* and don’t have to think about anyone but *us*. It’s damn liberating. I even decided to stuff Logan’s tags in my beauty case instead of wearing them. It wouldn’t be fair to Bobby if I did, but in a bizarre kind of way I also felt like I was betraying Logan. 

You sure can leave it up to me to confuse myself. I get lost in my own feelings all the time. Sometimes I blame the other personalities I my head, sometimes I blame adolescence, but usually I think I’m plain nuts. Whatever the case, I think I’ve got my stupid crush under control again. Thank God. Escaping the Mansion and spending more time with my boyfriend really was a good idea. We obviously needed some time alone together.

Besides the fact Bobby and I being closer again, it’s also nice to walk around anonymously. We keep to ourselves mostly, and it’s a relief to simply mingle amongst humans without being marked as mutants all the time. If it wasn't for my short visits to Bobby's family, I’d almost forget the existence of another world outside Xavier’s. It’s a world I want to be a part off. A world I can hide in.

* * *

Home, sweet home. It’s really hot here today. I’m escaping the unrelenting sun by hiding in the shadow of my favorite tree, just next to the labyrinth. I hear muffled laughter from the younger kids, chasing each other inside. I hear the accusing, ‘Hey! No powers!’ and it makes me laugh every time. I’ve missed the little shits.

I’m not sure what makes me look over my shoulder because I don’t hear anything, but the sight of Logan crossing the lawn in my direction is both surprising and yet something I’d expect. 

“Survived Europe?” he greets me, an unlit cigar in his hand and dressed in jeans and that damn white tank top.

“Yep. Alive and well. How about you?”

Reaching for a lighter in his pocket before sitting down next to me, he replies neutrally, “Alive.”

“Not well?”

“Am I ever?” He blows some smoke into the air. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. Where have you been?”

“Up north.”

"Had fun? I mean, besides the obvious."

"What's the obvious?" 

"You know, meaningless sex, vicious fights and a shitload of alcohol.”

“You’ve got me all figured out, huh?” he asks, sounding surprisingly bitter, and I shrug. 

“Had you in my head. You didn’t answer my question.” 

He points to my head. “Why don’t you ask the me up there?”

He usually doesn’t talks to me like this. This… aggravated.

Glancing over, I point out, “It’s the old you. It’s not like I know what you’re doing in the present.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Now I turn my head to study his profile up close. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

What’s happening with us? We’re together for about five minutes and we’re already fighting again. 

“Look,” I start, trying to sound reasonable, “if you don’t want company, please find yourself another spot. I was here first.”

He doesn’t move, but I can see him clench his jaw and he almost crushes the cigar in his fist. I decide to look the other way because those bare arms are too distracting. I just came back from a wonderful vacation with my boyfriend, and I’m *not* gonna lust after Logan again. I’m not. 

Seconds turn into minutes, and I’m angry at him and at myself. Why can’t I just move on? Why can’t I just love Bobby and be satisfied?

Just when I think we’re gonna sit here in loaded silence until dinner, Logan picks up our initial conversation again. 

"I’ve checked up on some old friends." 

I’m still a bit worked up about his indefinable behavior and my own stupid feelings, so I sneer, "You have friends?" 

It clearly rubs him the wrong way. 

"You keep this up, I have one less." 

"Should I feel threatened?" 

“Warned.”

I snort. “Not impressed." 

Again the silence seems to close us in. 

The kids have moved from the labyrinth, and I don’t even hear birds or other animals anymore. It’s like they’ve fled into safety. 

While Logan chews on his cigar, I stubbornly stare straight ahead and try to ignore him. Of course, it’ll only make me more aware. 

I hate him. I hate myself. I hate Bobby. I hate the whole goddamn world right now. It’s all Logan’s fault. I was perfectly okay until he showed up. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much. 

Minutes pass, and the silence starts to feel so awkward I’m about to scream. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I mutter, "Just because you feel shitty doesn’t mean I have to feel the same. This is getting old. Either tell me what’s wrong or get lost." 

"There’s nothing to tell.”

“Yes, there is.”

“I am *fine*.”

The controlled exasperation in his voice should be a warning, but I can’t let go. I’m so fed up with his secrets, I’m gonna push until he either kills me or caves. 

“Great. Then tell me about the Japan-stuff.”

For a second I think he’s really gonna strangle me, but then he takes a deep breath and says, "Went looking for someone called Mariko.”

"And?"

“Found her.”

Of course, another bimbo. Why am I not surprised?

"Let me guess. She was your mistress while you were married with that viper-woman, and she's about ninety-seven by now. Since you’re a free man after your divorce, you married her anyway to make up for all those years of being second best, and you two adopted an orphanage."

He glares at me. "She's dead."

"Oh." 

Crap. Me and my big mouth. Maybe she was important to him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to tell. Maybe it’s too personal. 

Tightening my grip around my legs as if to brace myself, I ask quietly, "Was she important to you?"

"Yeah."

“Did you… love her?”

The way his eyes dart to the grass in front of us says enough, but he answers, “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened back then. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

That’s sad. Finding a little part of a puzzle that seems to contain a happy picture, but not knowing what to do with it. 

“I’m sorry,” I mumble remorsefully, but Logan gruffly brushes it off. 

“What else?”

“What else what?”

“Questions. What more do you want to know?”

Shrugging, I shift so I sit Indian style and tug at the grass. “Nothing. I guess… I guess I’ll just wait until you’re ready to tell me.”

From the corner of my eye I can see him scrub his hand over his face. 

“It’s okay.” He suddenly sounds tired, resting his head against the tree while he closes his eyes. “I know I should talk more. I just… can’t. I don’t know what’s going on inside my own head half the time. It’s nothing but fucking chaos up there.”

Suddenly the weird tension is over, and we’re back to the friends we were. 

Leaning against the tree as well, I put my head on his shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel cornered or something. Just tell me to fuck off, okay?”

There’s a hint of a smile in his voice when he answers, “Won’t do. You’d remind me this is your spot and that you were here first.”

I smile as well. "True. I'm a bitch like that."

He rests his cheek on the top of my head. "Says who?"

"My consciousness."

"You've been naughty again?"

It makes me giggle. "I’m as innocent as a lamb."

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“I am *not*. I’m… I’m…”

At a loss for metaphors apparently.

“Sin,” Logan finishes my sentence. “Beautiful, innocent sin.”

Whoa. That’s… that’s… whoa. 

Suddenly a bit shy, I ask, “I am? Is that good or bad?”

He sighs and brushes his lips over my hair. “Dunno, kid. I’m still trying to figure that one out as well.”


	30. Chapter 30

Bobby and I have been together for eighteen months and he never once said he loves me. I’ve never really dared to ask why he doesn’t, but when I tell him that I love *him*, he simply answers, “I know.” 

Isn’t that weird? Isn’t there some law or etiquette rule that says you have to return those words when a loved one says them to you? It’s quite obvious Bobby loves me, otherwise he wouldn’t have been working his ass off to make sure we can live together soon. So… that leaves the following question: why doesn’t he just say so? 

At first I thought it maybe were his parents. Maybe he wasn’t used to expressing his feelings, but the Drake’s turned out to be quite affectionate. Well, except for Ronny, but he’s just going through a ‘I’m a rebel without a cause’ kinda stage. That, and the fact that he’s a total asshole. 

But Bobby is almost twenty by now. He’s adult enough to tell me he loves me, right? Or am I being silly? Is it a girlish thing? 

Eyeing my boyfriend, who’s lazily reading the newest Spiderman comic on his bed in my room, I decide to quit worrying and just ask. I can’t come up with a reasonable answer otherwise. 

“Bobby? Do you love me?”

He doesn’t look up. “Of course.”

“Then why don’t you say so?”

Now I have his attention. “Huh?”

Nervously shifting on my bed, I suddenly feel a bit sick. “You never tell me you love me.”

He seems to think about it. “Well, it sounds so… cliché. Like, it’s something from the movies.”

“Oh. Well… maybe love is a bit cliché.”

“So?”

“So… I’d like you to say it.”

“What? Now?”

Grrrr. Boys. Do I have to spell it out or something? Yes, now would be really nice.

“I’m sorry. Did I catch you at a bad time or something?” I snap, crossing my arms and glaring at the pile of comics next to the bed. 

My boyfriend glares back. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Just say it. It shouldn’t be that hard, three fucking syllables.”

“Please, keep the inner-Wolverine at bay, will you? If I’d say it now it’ll be fake.”

My knuckles are actually itching. “Why? You love me all the time, don’t you? Like, when an object’s orange - let’s say, a carrot, and you want to me acknowledge that fact by saying it out loud, does that mean the carrot suddenly is artificially orange?”

He sighs. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Me neither,” I huff, standing up and pacing between our beds. “I just want to hear that you love me. We have been together for one and a half years. You’re talking about moving in together. The least you can do is telling me your feelings.”

“I do it all the time. You think I want to live with someone I don’t care for?”

I stop in front of him and place my hands on my hips. “You *care* for your pet, bub. You *love* your girlfriend.”

“Why are you doing this?” He narrows his eyes at me. “Is it Logan again?”

“He’s got nothing to do with this.”

“You’re always acting weird when he’s back. We had a great time in Europe. Everything was fine. We didn’t fight once, but now we’re here, and he’s here as well, and suddenly things are going difficult again.”

Okay. So he’s right, but I’m *not* gonna admit that. This conversation was about him not telling me his feelings. 

“Don’t turn this around,” I steer clear of murky waters. “This is about you and me, not him.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. Does *he* tell you he loves you?”

“Of course not!”

“What would you do if he did?”

I’m so taken aback by his question, I open my mind and realise I have no clue what to say so I close it again and try to form a coherent thought. 

Crap. I knew I never should’ve started this conversation to begin with. 

I open my mouth again, and say, “Logan does *not* love me like *that* and you know it. This is getting old. I’m not going to have this conversation again. You can be jealous as much as you want, I am *not* going to quit being friends with him.”

He sits up straight. “What if I made you choose?”

I stare at him in shock, but at the same time I’m getting really, really annoyed by all this. No one tells me who I am supposed to be friends with. No one. Not even my boyfriend. 

Carefully articulating my words, I answer, “I strongly suggest you don’t. No matter how much I love you, I’m not going to let you control my life. You want me, you get my friends as well.”

“So, what are you saying? That I might lose?”

Knowing this might be the ending of it all, I nod. “Yes, you might lose.”

We stare at each other for a couple of seconds, and a part of me dares him to say the words, but after a while he looks down in defeat.

“Fine. You *and* your friends it is,” he mutters, and it leaves me wondering if this is the declaration of unconditional love I’d been waiting for.

* * *

The new school year is about to start and we’re expecting a new teacher. I've arranged a room in the teacher's wing, and if everything goes according to plan, she's on her way right now. 

She's a telepath, and it reminds me to participate in this year's block-classes. I didn't take them last year because I needed all my time to study, but with all those telepaths on the loose around here, it won't be an unnecessary luxury. I’d love to have some privacy in my head now that Erik, John and Bobby seem to have moved out. God knows in what part of my brain Logan is hiding nowadays, but I hope he’s comfortable up there. 

Besides ignoring block-classes, I’ve also been ignoring politics the past year. I was really good at it as well, but I’m Charles’ secretary now. This job makes it quite impossible to disregard all creepy things happening in the world. I actually have to read stuff, and I’m not sure if I’m glad with all this knowledge. I’ve learned that, sometimes, ignorance really is bliss. 

As it turns out, mutants are being brutally murdered by a group called Friends of Humanity. It’s happening on an almost daily basis. They’re sort of like the Klu Klux Klan, only without the sheets. The Professor is working hard to find out where their headquarters is located, but they seem to move around a lot. I happen to know it’s one of the things Logan’s been working on.

I also know Erik is building himself an army. An army that wants world domination, not peace. It's growing rapidly because all the outcasts are sick and tired of being victims. They don't want to find a civil solution anymore. They want revenge. The most sad thing is, there are moments I can’t blame them. 

Right now, I'm up to my elbows in correspondence with the secretary of Mutant affairs. There’s a chance Hank is going to take his place, so he'll be the first publicly known mutant in the government. I hope the world is ready for it. 

It’s weird to worry about those things instead of homework and tests. Sometimes it feels like I'm pretending to play grown-up in this adult world. An adult world I came to realize I don’t like that much.

* * *

When it’s lunch time, I decide to take a walk around the grounds. It’s one of the last warm summer days and I want to enjoy it while I can. 

“Roguey!” Jubilee waves at me, sitting in all her yellow glory on one of the wooden fences. “You’re so wearing too much clothes! Get them off!”

For some reason Logan’s there as well, lazily sprawled out on the lawn in front of her. When I’m within hearing distance, he says without opening his eyes, “I second that.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, smiling at the odd combination of my two friends together, but Jubilee smirks like a cat that ate the canary. 

“You’ve heard the man. Girl, I'm getting hot just by looking at you.”

“Why, thank you, sweetheart," I return. "Too bad you're not my type.”

She sighs. “Maybe we should give it a shot anyway. There seems to be no available man around anymore. Well, except for Wolvie here.”

“Don't even think about it,” Logan grunts, and she overdramatically throws her hands in the air. 

“Why not? I’ve been hitting on you for the past hour, being my most witty and sexy self. I’m wearing hotpants and almost no shirt. What does a girl have to do to make you notice her? I mean besides almost dying in your arms?” She casts me a brilliant smile, but I just glare back. 

Logan answers matter-of-factly, “Try growing up.”

“Dude, I'm almost twenty.” 

“You act like twelve.”

“I do not,” she disagrees. “It’s all you. You’re a boring old fart. You’re also a tease, walking around all Rambo with those sexy muscular arms on display. We have feelings, you know.”

Their easy banter amuses me. I make myself comfortable next to my buddy, and when he doesn’t answer, my former roommate plops her gun and tries again. 

“Come on, Wolvie. The least you can do is take me out for a ride on your bike. It’s your fault I’m manless, remember? You totally shot my last boyfriend.”

Now I perk up, because… “Wait… what?”

Jubes’ eyes widen and she accidentally swallows her gum. “Oh. Uh… oops?”

“Twelve,” is all Logan repeats evenly, not in the least bothered to explain himself. 

Of course, my curiosity is getting the better of me again. 

“He *shot* your boyfriend?” I ask Jubes, but before she can answer, I look at Logan and ask again, “You *shot* her boyfriend?” 

Jubes is the one who caves first. “Yeah… Remember last year’s Christmas party? I totally rocked, chica. It was my first mission.”

I stare at her, totally flabbergasted. “You… what? Care to explain a bit more?”

“Lee…,” Logan warns, not even looking at her, but Jubes grins widely. 

“Don’t get your tail in a twist. She’s one of us,” she shuts him up before returning her attention back to me. “Okay, so remember Dave? My so-called boyfriend? He was with the Friends of Humanity. The Prof needed someone to infiltrate the group and I was so into it! Maybe I should become an actress because I got all the info we needed while Davey thought I was totally into him, the sucker. Okay, so he was a good kisser, but hey, so am I. It’s not like he got a bad deal or anything.”

I just sit here, stupidly blinking. 

Was I so occupied with my own problems I didn’t notice all this? Jubes an X-Man? A real one? Doing undercover missions? The same Jubes who couldn’t keep a secret even when her life depended on it?

“Why didn't you tell me?” I ask. “You said you broke up.”

She shrugs. “It was classified--”

“Still *is*,” Logan interrupts, but she continues anyway. 

“--and we all have our private missions, right? You went away with the Jet a few times, and you’re not allowed to talk about the things going over at your desk right now. It’s what being an X-Man is about. Sometimes it’s better not to know what's going on.”

“True,” I agree, still trying to mull it all over. She’s right, but it’s weird to hear those words coming from Jubes. They seem too responsible. I never thought of Jubilee as ‘responsible’ before. 

Still, she beaming with pride right now. "So… anyway, I agreed to meet Dave the night of the ball. He wanted to get in and do some nasty stuff with his gang, so I warned the Prof. That’s why we all had guns and needed the security. I went totally spy on him, it was so cool, but then playtime ended because Mr. Double O’Six-pack here shot him right between the eyes. His brain went all ‘splash’. You should’ve seen it.”

I grimace. “No, thanks.”

She doesn’t seem to notice, because she goes on, “Girl, if Scott didn’t have his spare visor up his ass, he’d shit his tux. He wanted to question him first.”

Looking from Jubes to Logan and back to Jubes again, I can't believe my ears. Is she really doing all this stuff? Wasn't she scared? Isn't she too young to go on undercover missions?

"Jubes," I try to get through to her, "you make it sound like it was fun. People got hurt. Killed even. That’s all very… serious." 

From the corner of my eyes I see Logan glance over to me but he doesn't say anything. 

Jubes' smile falters and she purses her lips into a firm line. "I was captured in the middle of the night simply because I can create fireworks. That’s serious as well. No way am I going to let anyone do that to me again. This world is a shitty place right now, and if that means I’m going to be scared sometimes, so be it. It’s nothing compared to what I felt back then in Stryker’s cell." 

Her whole happy-go-lucky attitude is gone, and for some reason she suddenly reminds me of Logan. They are both hiding their true selves from the world, but they are both passionate about the things they care about. And I know she has a point, but I don't want my friends doing dangerous stuff. It’s just too weird. It’s like I’ve ended up in some mutant spy movie. A few months back I was stressing over math, now I'm suddenly miss Moneypenny. What the hell happened?

Meanwhile, Jubilee jumps from the fence with her usual energy. "I totally see a pattern. I'm into bad guys. I think it's my destiny to hook up with the enemy. Look at John." 

Now she got me smiling. "Or maybe you just chase them to the other side." 

Sticking out her tongue, she replies, "Bad guys are fun, chica. You know they are. That's why I'm leaving you two ‘love birds in denial’ alone. Jump each other already and get it over with." She walks past us to the house and sings at the top of her lungs, "Got a lisense to kiiiill! And you know I'm going straight for yoooouuuur heart!" 

Shaking my head, I stare at her retreating form and mutter, "Silly chick." 

"Hate to admit but she's right," Logan answers, and I just about get a heart attack before he corrects himself and adds, "About the missions." 

"Oh!" I giggle. "Jesus, you got me thinking for a moment… Uh… yeah, never mind." 

He thoughtfully looks my way, but he lets it slip. "I didn't agree with Chuck to let her do it, but she held herself." 

"I don't like it either," I confess, slumping down next to him and watching the clear blue sky. "I don't want my friends to get hurt. I don't want to bury more people and pretend it's all for a good cause." 

He doesn't say anything, so I ask, "Do you think there’s a war coming?" 

"Yeah." 

"Are you going to fight?"

"I'll stay with Chuck for as long as he lasts, but I'm not gonna fight for people I don't know." 

"So… you think we're going to lose?"

He sighs. “Dunno, kid, but if we do, I'm not gonna sit and wait for them to get me." 

Them. Humans. The enemy. 

"This all scares me,” I tell him quietly. “I have no idea what to do. What's heroic, what's plain stupid? Am I a coward for wanting to run from all this?"

"Nope. I’ve got a safe place. When shit hits the fan, I want you and Drake to go up there."

Aww… That’s so sweet. He wants my boyfriend safe as well. Bobby’s *so* gonna feel guilty when I tell him this. 

"Where?"

"I'll give you the coordinates tonight." He sits up straight and locks his eyes with mine. "It stays between you and me."

Crap. That means no telling Bobby until things really get ugly. 

"Okay. I promise." 

But I really don’t like the sound of all this.

* * *

Summer ends and fall sets in. Between all problems on a worldly-level, a small family drama occurs to the Drakes in mid-September. Bobby's brother Ronny runs away from home and joins the Friends of Humanity. Bobby’s father ends up with a stroke after finding out, and he recovers only partially. Bobby’s forced to help out at the office, and he tries to study at night. 

While my boyfriend’s torn between the X-Men and his family, the Professor decides it’s time for me to know about all the missions, stake-outs and infiltrations. I’m trying to keep my mouth shut and just look at things from the outside, but I can’t help but panic every time I know my friends are about to do dangerous things. Both Bobby and I long for some peace and quiet, and the prospect of moving in together and leaving this complicated world behind gets more tempting by the day. Of course, we’re both feeling terribly guilty about it.

To make things worse, Logan isn’t around much for me to lean on. He’s Charles' best fieldsman, so he’s gone most of the time. I've learned my lesson and don't question his whereabouts if I don’t know the specifics. I’m pretty sure I don’t even *want* to know. Still, when he’s here, he’s dedicating his time into training us all, even the younger kids. 

Self-defense got company from combat and survival classes, and, after a lot of discussions, he's also teaching us how to use real weapons. Guns, knives… the whole shebang. He's tough on me as well. There are nights where I lie awake from the pain in my body after training, and when I have the luxury of actual sleep, I dream about wars I’ve never fought in. 

I don’t tell anyone about Logan’s memories coming back to me so clearly. Hank and Charles are too busy, and it’s not like they can do anything about it anyway. I certainly don’t want Logan to know. We’re finally back to the safe stage of solid friendship again. The threat of a war looming over our heads seems to chase away all other problems, and I almost long for the days when having a crush on my combat teacher was my biggest problem. At least I felt something other than fear. 

Funny how I thought my life was complicated back then.


	31. Chapter 31

Momma’s playing with my hair. I love it when she does that. She never wants me to cut it because ‘long hair makes me a real girl’. I never understood that kind of logic, but it doesn’t really matter as long as she keeps caressing it like that. 

“Wake up, kid.”

Wait… That’s a deep voice, and it belongs to Logan. There’s also a set of knuckles gently rubbing my skull. 

“Go away,” I murmur, and I try to protect my head from the hand that’s brutally chasing away my pleasant dream. 

There’s a familiar warmth hovering over me, and something stubbly is tickling the skin of my cheek when he whispers, “It’s your birthday.” 

Grunting an ungraceful “Hmpf”, I turn around and hide deeper under my duvet. 

So I’m nineteen. Big deal. 

He doesn’t move. “I’ll be gone for a while. I’ll leave your present and the tags on the desk.”

Knowing that it means I can return to blissful tranquility, I reply automatically, “Careful, sugar.”

“I will. You too, okay?” He kisses the top of my head. “Happy birthday.”

“Hmm,” I purr, and smiling, I fall back asleep.

* * *

Nineteen. One year to go before I’m finally past this teen-stage. I can’t wait to start my twenties. Just one more year. 

When I woke up this morning I found a small, square box on my desk along with Logan’s tags. It was sorta like a jewelry box, and my heart almost jumped out of my chest because I realized last night hadn’t been a dream. I’d been vaguely aware of him sneaking into my room, but it’s all kind of blurry. I think I was dreaming about my mother or something. Don’t know for sure.

Eyeing the box, it seemed like a long lost fantasy was about to come true for just a moment, but then I told myself to tone down the enthusiasm a bit. The box turned out to hold the key to his bike, and there was a note, saying it gave me partial ownership. 

I’ve been trying to analyze the present all day. First, the coordinates of a small cabin he considers to be safe, and now free access to his beloved bike. It seems like I suddenly own fifty percent of all Logan’s personal possessions. For someone who is extremely territorial and private, that’s quite a big deal. 

I didn’t get a lot of time to brood about it this morning though. Jubes burst in, then Bobby called, and even Hank showed up with a birthday cake at some point, so I was forced to play the birthday girl the rest of the day. 

Now, it’s late and I can’t sleep. I’ve been trying to find a rational explanation why Logan does the things he does, but his behavior is pretty much still a mystery to me. Just when I think I have him all figured out, he surprises me by doing the exact opposite. Sufficient to say, it’s driving me crazy.

Besides the partial ownership of a badass bike, I also got a lot of presents from my friends. They gave me towels, mugs, a tea set, and all sorts of stuff you need when you’re gonna live on your own. In an odd kinda way it made me sad because I feel like I’m going to abandon them. With each gift I was closer to my goal, and a part of me didn’t like it much. I’m still not sure why. I can’t quite put my finger on it. 

I’ve told Bobby not to give me anything so he could save the money for our own place, but he said there will be a present from his parents anyway. I’m going to Boston next weekend, so I guess I’ll see what they’ve got me then. I hope it’s not something too expensive. I feel like I owe so many people already. I’m so glad I’ve got a job now. At least I’m not living off of charity anymore.

It makes me wonder about my parents. Do they know what day it is today? Do they think of me when they hear about mutants getting killed? Are they curious about what kind of life I’m having? Are they hoping I’m okay? Are they still praying for me? Do they even care? 

When I tried to call them the first time when I ran out of money, they weren’t even at home. Somehow that made me really angry. I remember thinking they didn’t have a right to go out. They should’ve been there, waiting by the phone night and day, hoping I’d call. I never told anyone about it. Not even Bobby.

The second time I tried to call was right after I’d hitched a ride from guy who wanted more than just a verbal ‘thank you’. When I refused his sick suggestion, he threw me out of the car and I had to walk for hours to get back to civilization. When I’d finally found a phone booth, I’d asked for a collect call. The operator had to tell me they didn’t accept, and I’ve stopped trying after that. 

I know the Professor has written them a letter to let them know I was alright the first week I was here. They never answered. Even though I’d been expecting it, I was hurt anyway. Still, I want to go back one day. I want to go back and tell them I’m having a perfect house, a perfect job, and even a perfect boyfriend despite my mutation. I want to rub it in that my picket fence is whiter than theirs. I just hope this stupid war won’t mess up my plans.

* * *

“What about yellow?” Bobby ponders out loud. “Or orange, like your room?”

We’ve been talking about the possible colors of the walls in our future home. It’s one of our favorite wastes of time nowadays. We don’t talk about the miserable world out there. Our world is always a happy place. 

Caressing his arm, I check the white walls of his room and look at the pictures of old-timers and snowboarders. “Yeah. Something warm.”

“I think my parents are going to have a fit.”

I giggle. “Well, it’ll be *our* place, right?”

“True. I’d like blue in the bedroom. Blue and white.”

“Sunny in the living room and cool when we’re asleep. Sounds good.”

Being held in my boyfriend’s arms always makes me wonder - what if my skin wasn’t lethal? Would a safe snuggle stay a safe snuggle, or would we end up having sex? People who say putting on a condom is a mood killer really should try to put on some tights in the heat of the moment. I’m so sick of it by now.

Resting my cheek against his chest again, I ask. “Are you sure you want this? With me?” 

“Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you think my skin is an obstacle? Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

“Well, yeah,” he answers a bit too honestly for my taste, “but we manage, don’t we?”

“I guess.”

Okay, so I should be happy with his answer, but is it really too much trouble to sugarcoat it a little? I don’t want to hear my skin’s a hassle. I want to hear it’s no problem at all. I know that’s a lie but… blah. I’m being a twit again. It’s just like asking if a certain pair of jeans makes your butt look fat. You don’t want to hear that, yes, it makes your behind the size of Antarctica indeed. Even if that’s the truth. 

“You can pass for human,” I tell him. “I can’t. A life in anonymity is pretty impossible with me. We can live in a nice house and pretend we’re normal, but I can’t even shake hands with neighbors without wearing my gloves. Once they know I’m a mutant… well, you know what’s happening outside.”

That’s what we’ve been calling the world lately - outside. Outside our safe little bubble of chosen ignorance. Outside, where people like us are getting tortured and killed. Outside, where Erik’s army is lurking in the dark, hunting their hunters. 

Bobby obviously isn’t as pessimistic as I am. 

“You’re still trying to control it, aren’t you? You’ll find the switch someday.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

But what if I don’t? 

I don’t have the guts to ask.

* * *

A week later, I’m in a roadside restaurant with Logan on a Saturday afternoon. 

He came back yesterday, and I’d been waiting at the door to return the tags and thank him for his awesome present. He suggested going out for a ride today, and he stole Scott’s Harley so I could ride the monstrous machine that’s now ours. Too bad we more or less drowned in an autumn shower. He’d warned me it about it, and so did ‘Ro, but I wanted to escape the mansion anyway. Bobby had to stay at home to help out his dad, and I hadn’t seen Logan for two whole weeks. I really wanted some quality time alone. 

A hot cup of cocoa near a fireplace makes up for the wet leather tightly clinging onto me, and I can’t help but look at the color of his eyes in the light of the fire. They’re caramel-brown with just a touch of green today. Something’s bothering him, and I wish I could capture all the colors and all his moods with a camera. I definitely want to capture the smoldering look. Goddamn… I’ll never forget that one for as long as I’ll live.

Suddenly meeting my gaze from under furrowed eyebrows, he clearly doesn’t like my public display of adoration. He snaps rather brusquely, “What?” and I almost drop my mug and spill some of the warm liquid on my already wet, leather-clad thigh. 

“Crap,” I mutter, wiping away the stain, but I’m secretly thankful it conveniently buys me some time to come up with something casual. “Look what you’ve done. I was just lost in thoughts for a moment. No need to bark like that.”

Obviously forcing himself to sound less annoyed and more patient, he questions, “Thinking about what?”

“You know, stuff. Like, how handsome you are in the light of the fire.”

The incredulous look makes me roll my eyes. He really doesn’t have a clue how beautiful he is. He knows women respond to him when he’s going all charming-bastard on them, but other than that he’s rather stupid when it comes to his looks in general. It makes me want to tease him a bit. 

“And… I’ve also been thinking about our dance,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t chickened out?”

When it stays quiet on the other side of the table, I dare to glance over at him. His eyes are now stubbornly fixated on his own mug – coffee of course. He wouldn’t be caught dead with a hot cup of cocoa. 

“Nothing,” he grunts after a good thirty seconds, and I can’t help but smile, relishing the feeling of a sudden authority I seem to have in this conversation.

“It sure didn’t look like it. Didn’t feel like it either.”

“It was a mistake.”

Well, what do you know? He *really* seems to be a bit uneasy about it. 

Tilting my head, I push it a bit, just because I can. “Is that what you would’ve said afterwards as well? If I hadn’t stopped you?”

“I don’t do ‘what if’s’, kid.”

He’s trying to put me back at the kid’s table, but it won’t work this time. I’m feeling quite confident for some reason.

“Why not? You’re afraid of your own fantasies?”

His eyes dart up and lock with mine. “Yeah. Sometimes I am.”

The look on his face is a mix of wary annoyance and tired bluntness, and it makes me feel guilty, miserable and uncomfortable all at once. 

I know what he means though. I’m sometimes afraid of the things inside my head as well. Things I’ll never confess out loud. 

Looking down at my drink, I say quietly, “Me too.”

From the corner of my eye I see him emptying his mug and gesturing the waitress. When she approaches our table, he orders a whisky. The waitress asks me if I want something else as well. 

I smile politely and shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

She returns my smile and tells Logan his drink is coming up, and indeed, within a minute he nurses the tumbler between his hands.

It takes him a minute or so before he speaks again. “Yours or mine?”

“Huh?”

“The fantasies you’re scared of,” he clarifies, keeping his gaze averted with adept casualness. “Are they yours or mine?”

Good question. I’m not sure actually. I don’t know which thoughts are his and which are mine nowadays. 

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully even though I know it’ll probably upset him. “We’re getting too mixed up.”

He doesn’t respond, but he’s glaring at the fire. 

I can’t help but reach out and try to comfort him, so I put my bare hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Tough luck,” I return in a more lighthearted tone and letting go of his arm. “It’s done already. Now, let’s talk about something more cheery, alright?”

“Like what?” He downs his drink in pretty much one go.

“Neutralizing creepy places. You promised to watch me eat a peanut butter sandwich at Liberty Island.”

There’s a bit of a smile creeping up, along with his ‘you’re a loony’ look. “Now?”

“No, stupid. I’m cold and wet, and I don’t exactly carry a jar of peanut butter around. How about tomorrow?”

He shows his empty tumbler to the waitress to silently order another drink. “Sure.”

“Good.” I turn my gloves around so they have a chance to dry by the warmth of the fire. 

Logan empties his new glass the moment he gets it and orders an entire bottle. 

“You okay?” I ask, partly amused, partly concerned. “You’re awfully thirsty.”

“Fine.”

When the bottle arrives, he doesn’t waste any time. He pours himself a third glass, and I watch and wait for… something, I guess. He doesn’t return my questioning stare, but his body is a bit too tense. Whatever’s going on, he’s either trying to get drunk because it’ll be easier to talk, or because it’s easier to forget. 

I fidget with my gloves some more and hope to sit it out quietly, and after two more drinks, he finally caves. 

“I’ve got a lead again.”

I suppress the sigh of relief and ask, “You’re gonna follow it?”

"Can't. Chuck needs me here."

Ah. No wonder he's restless. He wants to follow his own trail. 

"Scott's here, isn't he? If there's real trouble, they can always come and get you."

He laughs bitterly. “Bullet holes don’t look good on Cyke."

Sometimes talking to Logan is like filling in a crossword puzzle. The more letters you get, the more words are revealed. It's all a matter of patience, persistence, and sometimes a little teasing. 

"And you think they make you look fabulous? With all due respect, sugar - I disagree."

He slumps in his seat, the amber liquid almost spilling over the edge. “Chuck’s a mark.”

What the…?

“You mean, like an assassination? Who? FoH?" 

He takes another large sip. “Probably.”

"So… now what? You're his bodyguard or something?"

"Yep."

Oh, my. This is horrible. And creepy. I don’t want him to be a human shield, healing thing or not.

Tiredly resting his head against the woodwork behind him, he sighs. "Maybe the lead's bullshit. A decoy."

"To lure you out?"

"Yep."

There aren't a lot of people who know what makes him thick. Is it possible we have an infiltrator? That’s a really scary thought. 

"The lead," I contemplate out loud, "does it ring a bell?"

For a moment he just stares straight ahead, but then he nods slowly. "Maybe. Yeah."

"Any feelings? Good or bad?"

"Bad. It's always bad."

Damnit. He’s having a pity-party for one. Time to join. 

Scooting around the table to get a bit closer - kinda difficult with wet leather pants - I put my hand on the damp jeans covering his thigh. "Hey, the Viper-lead wasn't bad, was it?"

He growls. "Viper’s a bitch and Madripoor’s the gutter where she belongs."

Right. Talking about holding a grudge against your ex-wife. 

He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me even closer. “Maybe it’s where I belong as well.”

"Don’t say those things,” I lecture him, eagerly leaning in and enjoying the cuddle more than I should. “Maybe, when all this is over, we can go over there and have a peanut butter sandwich as well. You know, to magically make it all better."

Burying his face in my hair, he asks, "You think it’ll work?"

“Of course. Never underestimate the therapeutic power of peanut butter.”

The quiet chuckle makes me glad, and I decide to just sit here and not move a muscle until it’s time to go back home again.


	32. Chapter 32

I’m watching the Statue of Liberty from one of the Circle Line boats. I’ve managed to persuade Logan to take the three hour cruise around Manhattan with me today. It’s raining again so there aren’t a lot of people on the outside deck, and it suits me just fine. 

“We almost died up there,” I say, holding onto the railing and looking up to the torch Lady Liberty is holding up with such determination. 

He doesn’t answer. He’s standing next to me with one arm around my back and his hand on my hip. 

He’s been pretty affectionate from the moment he’d pulled me close at the restaurant yesterday. We spent the evening watching TV in my room, and instead of taking a bed each like we usually do, he simply pulled me next to him and kept his arm around me while we watched some movie I can’t really remember. At some point Ororo knocked on my door and I suspected him to let go of me, but when he didn’t budge, I just called her in, feeling a bit awkward and guilty for being this close and personal with someone other than my boyfriend. 

If ‘Ro was surprised to see us cuddled up together, she didn’t show. She asked if I wanted to help her out with a report next Monday, and when I told her I would, she simply smiled to the both of us and left. Logan didn’t comment and neither did I, but when he finally left – almost reluctantly it seemed - his sudden devoted behavior kept me awake pretty much all night. 

“You know,” I start, still eyeing the copper lady, “I always thought she was a guy when I was younger.”

From the corner of my eye I see his somewhat bemused expression. “Why?”

“She doesn’t look very feminine to me. I mean, she hardly has breasts, there’s no waist, and her features aren’t exactly delicate either. Just look at her neck. It’s just as thick as her head. And what about her arm? It’s like an arm wrestler holding up the torch.”

“You try holding the damn thing for so long.”

I smile at that, but then I remember my fear and the confusion the last time I was here, and I press myself a bit closer to his side. “I’m glad you came with me today. So much has happened to the both of us. You hardly knew me back then.”

I leave the rest unsaid, but I’m sure he knows what I’m trying to say. He hardly knew me, but he was willing to die for me anyway. How can a girl not have a crush on a hero like that?

He shifts so he’s behind me, resting his chin on the top of my head while his arms lock me in a solid embrace. It causes a flow of grief to wash over me. My throat tightens and I can’t stop the sudden tears escaping my eyes. They mix with the rain on my skin. 

“Why did you do it?” I ask, and my voice is a pathetically fragile whimper. 

He seems to think about it for a moment, but then he sighs and says, “Because.”

I know that’s the right answer. Because. I don’t think there’s a better explanation for what we’ve got going on. It’s just something that *is*, no matter how hard we’re trying to ignore it. No matter how hard *I* am trying.

Sniffling, I close my eyes, turn around and hide my face in his shirt to cry for far more reasons than I want to admit. He maneuvers us around so he’s the one leaning against the railing, and he quietly lets me sob against his chest for as long as I need. 

Even though I’m wearing gloves my hands are cold. I sneak them under his jacket to seek his warmth, and I can’t help but stroke his back a little. It’s just a little movement of my fingers over a flannel shirt, and it’s basically nothing to make a fuss about, but that little movement makes all the difference between a comforting hug and a loving caress. 

The moment I realize what I’m doing, the tears stop flowing. 

He doesn’t move or say anything. He’s just holding me close, and for some reason all this seems so surreal. 

What are we doing? What am *I* doing? I’m pretty sure I’m heading straight into a very undefined shade of grey right now. I just can’t help it. He’s been too close all this time. Too *there*. I’m keeping my face hidden in his shirt, but my hands follow the hard muscles of his v-shaped torso and trail over his spine. I reach up and feel his shoulder blades, and then I let my hands roam over his sides to end up on his narrow waist. 

He’d been standing perfectly still during my cautious exploration, but now one of his arms is slowly moving up. He gently cups the back of my head, and his fingers tangle into my hair. Maybe it’s my imagination, but it almost feels like his hand is trembling when he moves his fingers over my scalp in a barely noticeable massage. 

I’m not sure what’s going on, but one thing is certain, the shades of grey are closing in on the both of us. We’re standing in the pouring rain on one of those friggin’ touristy Circle Line Cruise boats, and it seems like we’re sorta shyly making out in public. What’s going on?

I try to calm my fast pounding heart, but then I realize Logan’s heartbeat has increased as well. His breathing is shallow, just like mine, and I’m getting really confused by all this because I know this is wrong but I can’t seem to stop myself. In fact, I’m about to make things worse because my hands trail lower and end up on his butt. I stop and wait for the rejection, but a second passes, another, and then another one, and nothing happens.

His hand is definitely shaking. I can feel it when it moves to cup my cheek, using my hair to protect his palm. He gently forces me to look up, and what I see increases the beat of my already hammering heart. He’s got almost green eyes and he’s letting me in. He’s letting me *see* him, the real him, the vulnerable, lost, weary, haunted him. It’s the man I sometimes catch a glimpse of. The man I saw for the first time when he realized he’d stabbed me. 

I stare into the pools of loneliness and pain, and I press myself close to him. I can’t help but caress his face, trace an eyebrow, stroke his temple, then a cheek bone, and I brush a finger over the curve of his lips. There’s no snarl or tensely pursed firm line right now, his mouth is soft and definitely sensuous. Gazing at his almost childlike beauty, I’m too distracted to feel the movement of his hand until he touches me, skin on skin. 

My heart clenches and I gasp. I want to jerk away and tell him to watch out, but he presses his thumb against my cheek before I can respond. The connection opens up, his feelings and thoughts rushing in for just a split second before he breaks the contact. Then, he reaches for the zipper of my leather jacket like he touches killer skin on a daily basis. 

I’m too caught up in all those new emotions all of a sudden. I try to grab and explore them thoroughly, but then I realize he’s carefully unwrapping the scarf from my neck and I decide to focus on here and now. 

A flash of warmth rushes through my veins when he drapes the delicate fabric over my face. Am I finally getting my first real kiss? Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for ever since I met him? And if it is, then what? Am I going to allow this to happen?

The rain’s falling into my collar, and it’s making me shiver, but still, all I do is watch and wait, too afraid to move, too afraid to make a sound and break the spell. 

He’s lowering his head and I close my eyes, on the verge of crying again. The combined emotions inside of me are too much. They’re too honest and too intense, even though I’m still not sure what’s going on inside of him. It’s all about instinct and scents and feelings, but when he rests his forehead against mine, it’s a gesture so surrendering intimate, I can’t help but run my hand through his hair and cling onto him some more. He tightens his grip, almost hiding in my embrace, and then I suddenly understand. Without a single doubt in my whole being I understand his behavior, his feelings, this whole situation. His thoughts and feelings have settled in, and I just *know*.

He needs me. 

He also wants me, loves me, even, but at the same time, he’s relieved I’ve moved on so the outcome of all this is out of his hands. He’s convinced I deserve better because he’s too damaged, and he knows our relationship won’t be based on equality just yet because I’m too young. 

He resents his responsibility as the adult. 

He knows he’s the one who’s supposed to keep me safe, but he also knows he’s the biggest threat when it comes to my happiness. He knows I won’t reject him if he really makes a move, so it would be easy to just take what he wants and then leave again. A part of him wants to let out the remorseless beast and ignore the man’s honor, but he’ll never do that to me. He loves me too much. 

And so he’s stuck. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and it’s an apology for a lot of things. An apology for not knowing what to do now. For being too young. For knowing him at the wrong time in the wrong place. For all the damage inside, and for not knowing how to fix it. How to fix *him*. 

“I know,” he returns quietly. “Me too.”

We fall silent again, and I’m trying to figure out what I’m feeling. His emotions are so strong, I can’t push past them and reach mine. It all feels pretty definite. I can’t change his mind. I’m not even sure if I want to. I know I’m not strong enough to take the lead, and I’m certainly not strong enough to face all the consequences if I did. 

I focus on us outside my head again, and I realize we’re still pressed close, breathing each other’s breath through the scarf, our arms wrapped around each other. I tilt my head a bit and brush my lips against his, just once, because this is all it’ll ever be and I need to know what it’s like. 

He doesn’t kiss me back but he doesn’t pull away either. He’s still stuck, and I’m selfish enough to hold on to him and not let him go just yet.

* * *

It took me three weeks to get through Logan’s thoughts and emotions, find my own again, and to try and get used to sensing the world more intensely that I ever did. I think I’ve ended up with a fraction of his enhanced senses, but I don’t tell anyone, not even Logan. I don’t want to talk about what happened. It’s confusing enough to know we’re feeling the same, both wanting the other, and yet, we’re both not acting on those feelings for different reasons. 

For me, I can’t be the one who crushes Bobby’s dreams. I’m aware I’m settling for second best but that’s just the way it is. I just have to suck it up and accept it. I love my boyfriend, I really do, but I will always love Logan more. Or… maybe different. I will always love Logan because there simply isn’t an option to *not* love him, but I refuse to sit around and wait for the rest of my life until he’s ready to take the next step in our relationship. If ever. 

Still, there are moments I secretly fantasize about the war. In those fantasies Bobby volunteers to fight. I’m almost too ashamed to even think it, but in my thoughts he never survives and all problems will be solved. 

I’m so grateful I’m taking telepathy-block classes. I don’t know what I’ll do when someone finds out I’m picturing myself mournfully gazing over at Bobby’s coffin, and at the same time knowing I’ll be free to fill in my own future. Of course the thought depresses me as well - I *do* love him, but in those fantasies there is also this tiny spark of hope. A perverse feeling of relief. It truly sickens me. I didn’t know I could think those things. 

As for Logan, no matter what will happen between Bobby and me, he doesn’t want a relationship right now. Not with me, not with anyone. He’s convinced he doesn’t have anything to offer besides trouble. All the women he’s ever loved are now dead, after all. It doesn’t exactly help I would’ve died as well if it wasn’t for his healing and my mutation. In fact, I sort of died twice within twenty-four hour. The thought still keeps him awake at night.

Well, that’s *my* interpretation anyway. It’s not like we’re talking about all this. In fact, we haven’t mentioned our feelings at all. After the boat trip we just hopped on our bikes and drove home. Logan was called into Charles’ office and I didn’t see him for three days after that. Obviously I was worried how to behave when he was going to be back, but surprisingly enough he just knocked on my door, hopped next to me on my bed, put an arm around me and settled into the familiar ride of being friends again. No fuss, no awkward anxiety, no difficult talks.

I think he’s glad we’ve got this whole bottled up tension out in the open. He doesn’t have to hide his feelings anymore and, unlike me, he never gave a shit about what anyone thinks of us anyway. He doesn’t act any different, but everything’s changed just the same. I’ve seen him staring at me a couple of times but he still looks away, and even though he doesn’t touch me other than the things he’s done before, he’s certainly reaching out to me more often. 

Like, the other day, when he easily pulled me onto his lap when we were all crammed together in the Rec Room, watching the latest news about The Brotherhood fighting Friends of Humanity. There were a few curious glances and questioning looks our way, but I guess a little too friendly friendship isn’t that big of a deal when it comes to gangs tearing down the town in an attempt to exterminate each other. The expected lecture never came. Not even from Scott. I guess they’re all used to us being glued together. 

The problem is, I’m still not used to it. I’m an emotional basket case, and I’ve been spending most of my time torn between being completely smitten and miserably confused. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. Even though Logan and I never *really* act on what we’re feeling, I’m very aware of the fact that I wouldn’t want Bobby to have a friendship with another girl like I’m having with Logan. So besides learning that I’m capable of horrible thoughts about my boyfriend and knowing I’m selfish when it comes to holding on to my best friend, I’m also a goddamn hypocrite. 

Life certainly isn’t all sunshine and rainbows right now.

* * *

November rolls in. Logan isn’t around much, and it helps that I’m not seeing him. I don’t see much of Bobby either, but I’m okay with that as well. There are more fights between the Brotherhood and the FoH, and the Professor fights his own battle, keeping his position in the middle even though it might come with a prize. Sometimes I think it’s a lost cause, but usually I admire his determination and belief in the good. I work hard and make more hours than I should, but it’s a welcome distraction from my own problems.

Around mid-December the fights seem less, like there is a truce of some sorts. With Christmas coming up people seem to be a bit more forgiving, and the feeling of fake peace and quiet is a nice breather. Bobby wants me to celebrate Christmas with him and his family, but I want to stay with my friends and the Professor. It’s going to be the last Christmas while I’m still living here, and I don’t want to miss it even if Logan’s gone on a mission again.

On Christmas Eve I almost chop off my finger while giving in to the inexplicable urge for a midnight snack. I have to wake up Hank to get it stitched, but the next morning, when he wants to check it for the second time, the wound is almost entirely gone. When he starts to ask questions, I’m forced to confess that Logan’s briefly touched me again almost two months ago. I’m really glad he never asks why, so I tell him about the slight enhancement of my senses as well.

He takes some blood samples, talks to Charles, talks to Logan, and in the end it turns out I’ve got a permanent dose of Logan’s healing and a fraction of his senses. The third touch, how insignificantly it seemed, sparked the latent powers Hank had predicted earlier on. I expect Logan to freak out when I tell him the news, but he just gives me this passionate, intent look. I instinctively understand what he’s not saying out loud. He’s glad a part of him will now protect me even when he’s not there. 

We end one year and begin a new one. For some reason my new powers are developing even more and I’m trying to ignore all those scents while the constant noise is stressing me out. There are also moments when I feel like I’m on the edge of insanity, the veins under my itching skin filled with liquid fire. There’s a hunger for passion I can hardly control, and I think it’s got something to do with my cycle. I try to stay away from Logan the best I can during those times, and he seems to understand why because he never asks any questions. 

In the midst of all the weird things happening to and around me, Bobby is a constant factor. His belief that we can make it in an anti-mutant world never really fades, and he works hard to achieve his goal. Sometimes he works so hard I’m about to think he forgets my existence, but usually I’m grateful he’s not around much to watch me struggle with my split personality. 

Sadly but understandable, when Bobby *is* around, Logan’s always gone.

* * *

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” I huff, trying to keep the same running pace as Logan even tough his legs are so much longer. “Why am I running around in the woods in the middle of friggin’ winter, jumping over branches and being all sweaty while I don’t even wanna *be* an X-Man?”

“Save your breath and keep running,” he orders, not even breaking a sweat. 

I growl and think about the past weekend making plans with Bobby. “We’re not in the army, you know. I don’t need this kinda training. I’m gonna move to Boston soon. Get myself a nice little house. An office job. Sit on my ass all day. Your sense of fun sucks.”

He stops so abruptly I almost think he teleported out of sight. 

“What happened?” he asks, and I try to catch my breath while wiping my sweaty bangs out of my face. 

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t you,” he points out, a scowl expressing his annoyance. 

“Sure, it is. What are you talking about?”

“You ran away from home. You ran away from here. You flew a Jet and saved our asses. I popped the blades - you didn’t blink an eye.”

Crossing my arms, I ask. “So?”

“Where’s the river rat who snuck into my trailer?”

I glare back at him. “She grew up and got a taste of being normal again.”

“You want to be normal?”

“You make it sound like there’s something wrong with it.”

“No, it’s just… not you.”

“Gee, thanks,” I snap, even though I understand what he’s trying to say. It’s just, I’m having one of *those* days. Everything sucks and I’m cranky. I’m not sure if that’s inner-Logan or just me.

Taking a step closer so he can touch my shoulder, he continues in a much softer tone, “Come on, Marie. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

I shake off his hand and walk out of his reach. “Maybe I’ve had enough adventure in my life already,” I point out defiantly. “Maybe I just want a quiet life with a white picket fence and a nice accountant for a husband.”

It’s his turn to growl now, and in a wicked way I enjoy his frustration. 

“You haven’t even seen Anchorage yet.”

“I don’t *want* to see in Anchorage anymore. There’s a bit of a war going on, remember?”

He snorts. “You think your white picket fence will protect you? Or an ice wall maybe?”

That’s mean. He’s referring to Bobby’s attempt to rescue us from Stryker’s men. It was a very good idea and he knows it. 

“That ice wall bought us time,” I defend my boyfriend’s clever action, clenching my fists and trying to remain calm. 

“They’ll blow it up again. And then what? You’re gonna hide into the closet?” he spits out sarcastically, and then he adds with a vicious smirk. “Or under your *separate* beds?”

Oh, I get it. Oh, yeah, I get it now. He’s jealous. He’s insanely, possessively jealous again. He’s going through that stage sometimes, usually after I’ve seen Bobby. 

“What’s with you today?” I ask, because maybe we need to talk about this. 

He kicks a branch with barely concealed obstinacy. “Nothing. You want a normal life? Count me out.” 

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“If playing house is what you want, you have to get yourself a new watch dog.” 

What the hell?

He turns around and stomps away, but I go after him because this is too important to just let go. 

“Wait! Logan, wait damnit!”

He doesn’t. He easily changes the pace into a sprint, and he jumps over the bushes to disappear into the tree line. All I can do it watch him run because he’s left down wind and he knows I’m not experienced enough to track him down. It leaves me no other choice than going back, and when I enter the mansion’s ground, I notice Emma Frost talking to Ororo about ethics’ class. 

I hate Emma. I hate her even more when I’m having a really shitty day. She’s the main reason I’ve been taking telepathy-block classes because she’s even worse than Jubes when it comes to gossip. And she’s evil. Just plain evil. She *enjoys* being evil. That’s the evilest kind of evil if you ask me. 

“Lover’s quarrel?” she asks in that bittersweet tone I despise, and I try get the mind-blocks up. 

“Bobby isn’t here,” I grunt, not even bothering to stop for a chat with the parasite. 

“Tsk tsk. Still in denial, I see.”

I stop and show her my most viscous glare. ‘Ro raises her eyebrow but wisely decides to stay out of this. 

“You know, I don’t like you very much,” I bitch, knowing it’s impossible to keep her out of my head when I’m this upset. I might as well tell her my thoughts. “And I know I’m not the only one around here, so please, do us all a favor and kindly fuck off!”

“Honey,” she calls after me, “that’s usually the reaction from insecure females to my appearance. I hope you grow out of it. It’s not very charming.”

Grrr! I think I’m going to have a danger room session. I really need to punch someone right now.


	33. Chapter 33

It has been a week since Logan and I had our fight. I haven't seen him since, but I know he's not really gone. I check his bike and the truck he usually takes several times a day, just to make sure he doesn't bail out on me before we make up. I’m sure it's just a matter of time before one of us decides to cave. It's always been that way, although I have a feeling it's up to me this time. He’s doing a really good job at avoiding me. 

I miss him. I miss our nights watching TV. I miss us having dinner together. I miss our bike rides, and I even miss our stupid workouts, and so right now, I'm searching the grounds, looking for his stubborn ass to see if we can talk about what's bothering him. I've been at the labyrinth and the graveyard, I’ve checked the roof, the garage, the boathouse, and now I'm on my way to the playground, just to make sure.

Crossing the lawn, I shiver and look up at the sky. It's dark, no stars. I don't even see the moon anywhere. I'm glad for Logan's senses because those little solar garden lights merely give off soft defused light, usually barely enough to see the footpath, but now I’m fine. The path is clearly visible, and focusing on sounds and scents, I don't pick up anything unusual. If he’s downwind again I'm out of the game, but then I suddenly pick up a vague scent of tobacco and I know he’s close. 

I follow the trail and… yep, there he is, sitting on a stone bench, smoking a cigar. The orange glow at the edge of his smoke makes him easy to spot once you know where to look. 

I stop to look at him from a distance. A *safe* distance, waiting for his approval to come any closer.

“What do you want?” he asks gruffly, and I try hide my nervousness even though I know it’s a futile attempt.

“A talk?” 

Funny how these things seemed so normal barely a week ago. I feel like we’re back to square one all over again. What it is that makes me feel like I’m completely shut out? Does he always radiate that ‘stay the fuck out of my way’ message? If so, how come I’ve always missed out on that one? 

“So talk.”

Taking the answer as an incentive to enter his personal space, I explain, “About us.” 

He just keeps studying the strip of grass between his boots. 

Great. And here I thought making up would be easy after giving him some time to brood. 

“You’re jealous,” I say, sitting down next to him and hoping he’ll react. It doesn’t really matter whether he confirms or denies it as long as he says *something*. Getting him worked up usually means he’ll show me his feelings. As long as he keeps this apathetic attitude up, I’m at a complete loss here. 

Apparently he knows my game because he doesn’t fall for my little trap that easily. He retains his silent status and I suppress the urge to growl and show him my frustration. 

“I understand, you know,” I try, hoping he’ll understand it‘s okay to have these feelings. “I was jealous of Jean as well.”

“I wasn’t fucking Jeannie,” he retorts angrily, and that sparks my own anger because maybe he didn’t, but he sure wanted to. 

“Because she died before you could,” I snap back, and then I mentally kick myself for not being able to control my feelings a little bit better. Someone has to be the adult here. It might as well be me. 

He knows I’m right. He knows it, and so he doesn’t come up with another defense. Besides, what I do with my boyfriend is my business. He tried to fuck someone else’s woman, for God’s sake. 

“Look,” I huff, tired of this stupid game and deciding to just mention out loud what we both know already. “I’m not here to argue again. I just… I’m not gonna put my life on hold just because you can’t deal with things. You’ve made a choice, so did I. Let’s just move on, okay?” 

Of course now he stays silent again, glaring at everything but me. 

I sigh and gently nudge his shoulder with mine. “Say something, will you?”

“You done?”

“Yeah.”

“Point taken,” he grunts. “Now fuck off.” 

Oh! Oh, the nerve! He’s such a… such a… just… aaargh! 

I *so* want to knock him out right now. I hate him. I swear I hate him, and yet I *know* this is what he wants. I know him too damn well. I’m *not* gonna let him do this. 

Forcing down the almost smothering anger, I hiss, “I know what you're doing but I'm not gonna let you. You can be an asshole all you want, you won't push me away.” 

He snorts. “Wanna bet?”

I knew it. I *knew* it.

"Actually, yes, I do."

Again, a menacing silence is all I get. 

Taking a deep breath, I stand up. "Alright. If you want to behave like a sulking brat, have it your way. Just know I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not.”

And then I force myself to walk back to the house, leaving him to rethink his strategy.

* * *

A few weeks have passed but nothing has changed. Logan keeps avoiding me the best he can and it really hurts. No one notices anything weird between us, because not only is my own little world messed up, the real world is getting nastier every week as well. Mutants have been knocking on our door on a daily basis, asking for help, and by now the mansion is almost too crowded to function properly. 

Classes are dismissed. The adults have given up their suites to accommodate all the frightened and often homeless kids. Everyone helps out the best they can. I’ve given up my room as well. I’ve moved to the smallest one at the end of the hall. The one with just one tiny window that was being used as a storage room. It barely fits my bed and a closet, so Bobby came over to pick up all my other things to store it in his parents’ garage. The Professor told me it’s very considerate of me, but still I feel slightly guilty for having a room of my own, no matter how small. 

Giving up my room naturally meant giving up Bobby’s sleeping place. We don’t see each other much, but with a civil war about to explode any moment now, I don’t want to take a risk and leave my semi-safe shelter. People are actually trained here. We’re having an army, and it’s led by Logan. Bobby’s parents only have a gun. God knows that’s not enough to stop brainless maniacs on a killing rampage. I’ve tried to persuade Bobby to move back to the Mansion, but he’s having none of it. 

I’m worried sick sometimes. The Drakes already have received a warning from the FoH on their doorstep. Pookie, their cat, was brutally slaughtered. The note in her mouth has ordered Bobby to leave the house or else he’s going to face the same destiny. I almost got a fit when his mother told me. She begged me to convince him because she doesn’t want to lose another son, and I’ve promised to do the best I can even though it’s going to make things with Logan even more complicated.

* * *

At the end of January, the Professor goes to another conferences about the mutant-problem. Usually it’s Logan who’s there to protect him, but ironically enough it’s Erik who prevents an actual attack, earning him the save of the day. He simply stops the bullet just a few inches away from Charles’ skull while Logan was busy kicking the Mansion’s security system up a notch – the Professor’s own orders. 

Erik’s chivalrous display of power gets the Professor weak in the knees again, no pun intended, and eventually he even decides to join hands with the Brotherhood. It’s creepy to see Erik, John and Mystique walking around here, but I guess all’s fair in love and war. Every mutant has always been welcome - mutants with fighting skills are just slightly more required right now. The fact that the Professor almost killed every human on the planet if Ororo and Kurt hadn’t interfered last time we joined up seems conveniently forgotten.

* * *

February rolls in and New York is covered in peaceful looking snow. While the kids are making snow angels outside, the grown-ups are preparing attacks on the FoH hide-outs, plan escape routes in case they get to us first, and try to find out where their headquarters are. The junior team is trying to divide their time between the both of them, feeling both useless and too young to carry all the responsibility.

I’ve been stuck in no man’s land for quite a while now. I’m not a team member, but I’m attending almost every meeting to take minutes for the Professor. I’m not old enough to be seen as an equal, but I’m not a child anymore either. I want someone to tell me everything will work out eventually, and at the same time, I’m trying to fulfill that role to the kids. 

Just like my friends, I’m trying to help out the best I can but usually end up feeling inadequate and insecure, misplaced and lost. Logan’s busy being everyone’s anchor because he’s keeping his cool in times of chaos, but he’s still keeping his distance with me. For the second time in my life I know what it’s like to be homeless, only this time I still have an actual roof over my head. It feels just as lonely though. Maybe even more. 

I’ve been trying to talk to him a few times, mostly because the Professor wanted me to pass on a message or something, but he only talks back when necessary. I don’t give up though. I still notice the way his eyes sometimes seek mine, scanning me from a distance, checking up if I’m okay. It doesn’t matter he looks away once I try to make contact. In those moments I still catch a glimpse of him without all those protective layers, and I know he still cares.

Of course, I try not to show my personal problems, but Emma knows anyway. She’s been casting us curious glances when Logan and I happen to end up in the same room together, but so far she hasn’t mentioned anything. Knowing the resident Queen Gossip and her nose for drama, it won’t be long until she’s going to interfere and probably rub it in. Needless to say, I still hate her guts.

* * *

March. 

Almost the end of winter and the biting cold I can’t seem to shake off, no matter how many clothes I’m wearing. 

Peter and Kitty have been attacked in broad daylight in the mall, and no one is allowed to leave the Mansion grounds without a senior team member anymore. Thankfully, Kitty managed to phase the both of them into safety before their attackers could do real harm, but everyone is shaken up pretty badly just the same. 

Because of the restriction, I haven’t seen Bobby for over a month now. We try to call and be online a lot, because he’s still too stubborn to leave his parents’ house. His mother is at her wits end, and his dad is almost getting another stroke, but Bobby says he can take whoever is coming for him. It makes me want to smack him on the head for his boyish bravado. From what I’ve learned so far about the FoH, I know he’ll never make it on his own.

* * *

April.

The senior members are getting exhausted. They’re try to keep this house up and running during the day, but they’re the X-Men at night, helping and protecting the innocent. 

The younger kids are getting bored without their classes. They start picking fights with each other and so the junior team gets the assignment to keep them busy. I can’t help out because I’m Charles’ right hand and we’re both almost living in his office by now. I see Logan when he’s talking to the Professor, but it’s always about business and nothing else. 

Everyone is edgy, and everyone is fed up with this situation. Some kids mutter they are looking forward to a real war instead of those random fights in the streets. I want to smack them on the heads as well. I’m so tired I could sleep for weeks.

* * *

It’s already May when Bobby finally gives in to Scott’s request to join the junior team. I try not to be offended that’s he taking Scott’s call more serious than mine. 

He brings a spare mattress and joins me in my closet-room. I’m glad he’s here because I finally feel like having someone to hold on to after months of living in some sort of suffocating vacuum. He picks up his friendship with John easily enough – they’ve always had this love-hate thing going on anyway - and if I didn’t know any better, I almost feel like living in the past where Logan and I were practically strangers, Bobby and John were best friends, and we still had a curfew going on.

* * *

June is a dreadful month because Jubilee gets shot during a fight. After forty-eight frightening hours she’s finally stable enough to make it through. The younger kids realize this civil war-thing is serious business because they all adore Jubes. I’ve never seen them so meek and quiet during the most critical hours. 

Scott, however, almost loses his rational coolness when he sees Jubes fighting for her life, hooked up to all the monitors. He wants to get even and Erik’s the one encouraging him. Surprisingly, it’s Logan who manages to calm him down and gets him back to his logical self again. He tells Scott he’s already slaughtered every single one of them and that they really can’t get any deader. I’ve never seen Scott so thankful, and if it wasn’t so alarmingly shocking, it would’ve been comical. 

I guess the constant fear and alertness is changing everyone. The once hopeful and optimistic X-Men are turning bitter and resentful, but since those feelings are pretty natural for Logan, his position within the Mansion has changed drastically. He went from reluctant pawn to reluctant leader. Even though I worry about the others, I’m really proud of him and still miss him terribly. 

That’s why I’m standing in the library right now, staring out of the window. I’ve been watching him smoke a cigar in the quiet night, seeking a moment of his own in the park. I’m not sure if he knows he's being watched, but he’s pretty far away and I didn’t turn on the lights. I simply can’t seem to let him go.

“Would you like a peek?” 

It’s Emma. I guess she sensed my thoughts from miles away. The dark gave me a false sense of safety and I let down my guard. 

“No,” I tell her firmly, not turning around, “and you shouldn’t either.”

She appears next to me, staring at the man out there on his own. “Don’t lecture me about right and wrong when you’re testing the boundaries yourself, child.”

Bitch. I’m not doing anything wrong. I know she’s picked up our thoughts, but just because Logan and I love each other doesn’t mean we *are* lovers.

From the corner of my eye I see her smile. 

~You, of all people, should know physical contact isn’t necessarily required to qualify the term.~

I sigh and give up trying to block her. She’s too powerful. 

Keeping my stare straight ahead, I answer, “Spare me the mental-sex crap.”

~It might be your only chance to experience a lover’s touch.~

I can’t help wanting to hurt her. 

“The only reason Scott allows you to fuck him telepathically is because he still loves Jean and he doesn’t want to cheat on her. You’re nothing but second best.”

Her smile fades and for a moment I think I’ve won this stupid cat-fight. Then she recovers from my blow and returns calmly, “That makes two of us.”

No. That’s *not* true. I’ve felt Logan’s emotions. He loves me. He doesn’t love Jean anymore. I’m the one… 

Wait… 

Her comment sinks in.

He doesn’t love Jean anymore, but what if he loves me because Jean simply isn’t here any longer and I am? What if I *am* second best? If she’d be alive, would he have loved me as well? 

The thought makes me sick, and I’m about to turn and leave to brood about all these new possibilities in the relative privacy of my own little room when she suddenly says, “I get such primitive signals from you, I sometimes forget those aren’t primarily yours.”

“Thanks,” I snap, gritting my teeth and not really sure why I’m staying put. She’s enjoying this. Why do I let her?

She actually manages to sound somewhat compassionate when she reveals, “He’s lonely.” 

I glance over to see if she’s serious, suspicious of her next move, but I don’t see that sardonic glee in her otherwise beautiful features. 

“I know,” I tell her, cautiously waiting her out. 

“Stubborn as well.”

“I know that too.”

“He’s convinced he’s better off without you.”

Okay, I didn’t want to hear that. Still, I can’t help but agree because I know that’s what he’s telling himself in the hopes he’ll believe it one day.

“So?”

“I think he’s right.”

I hate that she’s able to trigger me, but I can’t help getting a little defensive. “And why’s that?”

“Who would want *him* as a son-in-law? An old, leather-wearing, cigar-smoking, beer-drinking, cage-fighting, Harley-driving mutant with a killer instinct to boot. He doesn’t exactly fit the perfect picture, does he?”

I frown. “What picture? I don’t give a damn about what my parents would think about a boyfriend. I haven’t seen them in years.”

And there is that evil smirk again. I should’ve known she’s here only to amuse herself. I bet she thinks all this is just something *fun*. I wish I could just touch her and find out all *her* dirty little secrets. I’d spread them all around, indulging in satisfaction. Too bad Charles has preached his ethics lessons a bit too often. 

She turns around and walks back to the door. “You and I both know you’ll go back one day. An accountant will make so much more of an impression than the animal outside.” She laughs evilly. “And they say *I’m* the calculating tramp around here.”

I’m too baffled to come up with a snarky retort, so I just stand there, watching her open the heavy door to the hallway. 

God, I hate the bitch so, so very much.


	34. Chapter 34

July. 

The not-quite war goes on, but Emma’s comment makes me think about different things all the time. The comment about being second best. I’ve tried to dig up Logan’s thoughts about Jean from the day he touched me at Liberty Island, but the touch was so brief I couldn’t find a single hint about his feelings for her now. Not that I can focus really well. There are people everywhere all the time. I just can’t seem to escape the crowd. It’s driving me insane. 

The good news is, Logan’s slowly acknowledging my presence again. He still doesn’t seek me out like he used to, but when I try to make small talk he actually makes a sound instead of just walking away or pretending he’s deaf. Since I’m quite good at interpreting those forced, half-hearted grunts, I guess you could say we’re sorta back on speaking terms. Grunting-terms? Whatever. I knew I was gonna win this stupid thing. I’m sure it’ll be just a matter of time before we’re back to normal again.

* * *

August. 

More fights, more mutants on the run and no space left. Everyone’s exhausted and crabby, even the Professor. 

I wonder where Logan has his hiding-spot. Even though we’re still not as close as we used to be, he might allow me to hang out if I promise to be quiet. I seriously need a place to meditate. I swear I’m gonna kill the next person who accidentally bumps into me. With or without the help of my mutation.

* * *

September.

I’m sick of everything. I’m sick of the war, sick of being tired, sick of all this noise, sick of all the fights, and most of all, I’m sick of myself. 

Logan’s gone almost the entire month and Bobby’s busy being everyone’s popular big brother. He’s hanging out with John, Kitty, Jubes and Pete all the time, doing Junior Team things, and I’m stuck in either my office or my closet-room. Is there anything I do to break out of this pattern? I can’t even run away with the FoH everywhere.

It makes me wonder, if there were a mutant who could see the future, would I want to know mine? And if such a mutation exists, does that mean our future is already set? It would make life so much easier in a way. No more choices. Just go with the flow and see where fate takes you. Sit back and wait for destiny to knock on your door to tell you the cab is ready. 

There are days I like that thought. I’d like to think I was meant to run away from home and end up here. I’d like to think it’s all out of my hands, but if things are really meant to be, why on earth would we still want to chase our goals? What would be the point? If our futures are already set, like some sort of an adventure game, then where the hell can I download my own personal walkthrough?

* * *

October.

As gradually as it started, the war abruptly ends. Mystique finds the headquarters of the FoH, and within half an hour the X-Men and the brotherhood are suited up and ready to take it down. 

The following night is the longest of my life. In my thoughts I see my friends die the most horrible deaths while I’m pacing in the Rec Room, keeping an eye on the TV in the hopes of hearing some news. Charles is using Cerebro to keep track of his precious X-Men, the kids are in their beds, and the sudden silence seems too quiet, like an omen of death and its everlasting emptiness. And just when I’m convinced I’m going stir crazy here all by myself, it’s all over. 

The Professor comes to get me at the same time the reporters from CNN announce the downfall of the Friend of Humanity leaders, and the Brotherhood takes the credit. Or the blame, depending on which side you’re on. No way does Charles want the world to know he’s the one behind all this, and Erik’s the one who enjoys the spotlight anyway. It was quite an easy deal. 

Together with Charles I wait downstairs to welcome the others, and in an odd way, it all feels like such an anticlimax. Charles looks older but at least he’s calm, and I’m too shaken up to comprehend it all. There is no trace of relief, no feeling of freedom. I thought that we would either go down or win with a big bang, but when my friends and former teachers leave the Jet and enter the hangar, I just stand there, watching them make their way to the med lab for a check-up. 

Both Jubes and ‘Ro are pretty beat up, but they’re still able to walk. Scott’s being carried by Logan, but he’s conscious and grunting in pain. Logan seems fine, but by the looks of his uniform I know he took some serious damage. Bobby, Kitty, Pete and Emma don’t have any bruises at all, although Kitty’s limping a little. Kurt’s closing the line, holding his shoulder and grimacing in pain, but that means everyone is back. There are no deaths, no funerals, no heroic stunts. Nothing but a well-oiled, solid team, trained to carry out this mission. 

Seeing them all more-or-less safe and sound makes me dizzy with relief. I want to run up to of them, embrace them all and tell them I’m so happy they’re okay, but then Bobby casts me a distant, tired smile and keeps on walking, and it makes me glued to my spot next to Charles. 

I guess... I guess we’re going to celebrate later.

* * *

It’s been a week since the war ended but I still look at the strip of land outside the Mansion’s gates in fear. So much has happened already. As soon as the good news was spread, Hank took the post of new Secretary of Mutant Affairs. We watched it on TV and we all cheered for him. 

Everyone is adjusting, but I feel like I’m watching it all from a distance. It’s just like Jean’s death and Stryker’s attack all over again. The kids pick up their lives easily enough, the adults allow themselves to relax again, my friends are preparing for college, and Bobby is making plans to move back to his parents. 

When the others talk about the liberation-night, I feel left out most of the time. They don’t want to be rude or rub in that I didn’t fight along, but it sure hurts to hear that it’s too hard to explain what it was like to someone who wasn’t there. Even Bobby, who doesn’t even officially live here anymore, is suddenly more a part of the in crowd than I am. It makes me feel invisible. The thought of just packing my stuff and running is looking better every day.

* * *

Friday night. 

Movie night is back again but I don’t want to be a part of the Mansion’s routine anymore. I don’t want to pretend this is my home any longer. I’m going to move away soon and start my new life with Bobby in Boston. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, but I know it’s time to cut the ties and face the fact that I’m going to say goodbye soon.

I want to tell Logan personally before he finds out about it. Bobby just called to tell me everything’s set. We’re gonna move in together in a two bedroom house in his parent’s neighborhood, as soon as everything is painted and furnished. His grandparents own it, so the rent will be cheap. 

It worries me to rely on his family that much. The thought of becoming too dependent frightens me. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and a beggar I am. I have to find a job as soon as I’ve settled down. I want to be able to support myself instead of living off of someone else’s charity again. It’s time to take matters into my own hands instead of waiting around for something I’m not sure will ever happen. I don’t even have a clue what that particular ‘something’ should be. 

Lost in my thoughts, I walk up to the boathouse. I’ve got a hunch Logan’s there. If he is, I can tell him the news straight away. If he’s not, well, I’ve brought Jack Daniels, a pillow and a blanket to keep me warm, and I’m planning to stay the night outside to say goodbye to the lake and all the memories lingering there. I’ll miss it. 

As I walk up to the wooden platforms I notice him sitting on his usual spot, half hidden in the dark and leaning against the woodwork. 

“Hey,” I greet him quietly. “Mind sharing the silence?”

We’re still not good but things are looking up. Three days ago he even answered with a whole sentence instead of just a grunt. I had a message from Charles to pass on, so it wasn’t anything personal, but still, it *was* a whole sentence. He even managed to leave out the semi-hostile tone. Yay me. 

Tonight, he actually allows me to stay. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” I sit down and unpack my stuff. My blanket, the little pillow and the drink. He doesn’t look my way, but I know he’s aware of every movement. Holding out the bottle, I offer, “Wanna share this one as well?”

He doesn’t turn his head but he reaches out next to him and shows me his own stash. 

“Alright. Gonna shut up now. Cheers.”

I get myself comfy, drape the blanket over my legs and unscrew my drink to take a large sip. He doesn’t say anything, but he gulps down some his own liquor and it almost feels like the silence is companionable again. 

I haven’t been alone with him in ages, his shoulder just a few inches away from mine. I permit myself to indulge in his scent for a second or two, but then I realize he’s quite tense. 

Studying his profile in the shadow, I can’t help but ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says, and it makes me fall silent again. 

I was supposed to tell him something. Maybe I should cut the small talk and just say what’s on my mind. 

Clutching the bottle in my hands, I say, “I’m leaving next month.”

No answer. He keeps staring straight ahead over the lake. 

Shrugging awkwardly, I mumble, “I thought… maybe you’d like to know.”

Apparently he does, because he inquires gruffly, “When?”

“Right after my birthday.”

Gonna be twenty. Finally I won’t be a teenager anymore. There will be just one year between me and official maturity. 

“You can take the bike,” he breaks my musing, and I blink in surprise. 

“No way. It’s yours.”

“It’s no use where I’m going.”

Where’s that? Mars?

Eying him warily, I ask, “You’re leaving, too?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Great. Isn’t that all kinds of swell? Would he have told me if I hadn’t come here tonight? Where’s he going anyway? Chasing the lead he told me about months ago? Is he going to be back on time to say goodbye? Will he even return at all?

“Are you coming back?”

He keeps up the silent, stoic, straight-ahead-staring. 

“Logan?” I try again. “You *are* coming back, right?”

He gulps down the remains of his drink before he finally responds, “Yeah.”

Okay. Okay, that’s good. That’s… wait a second. Knowing him he’ll be back in about fifty years or so.

“This year?”

Guarded eyes dart my way before drifting back to the lake again. “What’s it to you?” he asks, the exasperation apparent in his tone. 

“I’d like to know. I’ve never shut you out of *my* plans.”

“You expect me to move in with you and Drake?” he scoffs, making me cringe. 

“No. I just thought… I thought you’d stay here and I could come over and visit. Or… or maybe you could come over to Boston once in a while and we could… you know, hang out.” I look up and repeat his earlier comment. “That one night here at the lake, when I got drunk, you said you’d come over at least every birthday to give me a touch of youth.”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

I’m not sure whether he means I don’t need him anymore because of the healing-thingy, or because I’m about to move in with Bobby. I guess it doesn’t really matter. 

Scanning him just like he used to scan me, I realize his so-called lack of concern is fake. He can mask his insecurity behind indifference, but I know him too well. He’s gonna run and he’s gonna run soon. It’s like I suddenly have his instruction manual right in front of me. 

“You’re gonna disappear forever, aren’t you?” I ask, my voice almost breaking. 

It’s like talking to a wall. He has made up his mind already. The strong, confident man in front of me can’t stand the thought of me living with someone else. He regrets his indecision, but he still isn’t ready himself and the knowledge has finally hit him full force: it’s too late. 

“Damnit, Logan. Say something,” I insist, and he jumps up, throwing his bottle against the wall with such force the thick glass shatters apart.

“What?!” he barks furiously. “What do you want from me?!”

Covering my head with my arms to avoid the shower of glass-splinters, I shout, “Something! Anything! Tell me what you feel! What you think! Just… talk!”

I glance up and for a moment I think he’s gonna strangle me, but then he turns around and runs both hands through his already unruly hair. 

“I *feel* like I want to rip that ice-punk’s head off. I *think* I have to leave to keep him alive,” he reveals his thoughts and emotions, his voice tightly controlled and almost sounding like a growl. Then he turns back and locks furious eyes with mine, popping the blades of his left hand. “Do you know how easy it would’ve been to get rid of him out there? Does the term ‘friendly fire’ ring a bell?”

I can’t say anything. I’m on the verge of tears to see him like this. I’m not shocked about his feelings because I shared those morbid fantasies. It makes me wonder if they were his or my own sick imagination.

Retracting the claws, he hisses, “I’m sick and tired of playing nice.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, and I mean really that. 

“Don’t,” he snaps, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans and, turning his back to me, he mulishly stares out over the lake. 

“So… this is it?” I ask in a small, quivering voice. “I’m gonna live in Boston, you’re gonna live God knows where, and that’s the end?”

Not turning around, he answers, “I’m not gonna break my promise. If you’re in trouble, tell Chuck and he’ll contact me. Keep the coordinates of the cabin in a safe place. If you need a break, go up there. Just let me know first.”

“So you won’t be around.”

That’s rhetorical apparently. 

I can feel the sting of tears welling up. “I don’t want this. I never pictured us saying goodbye like this. I never pictured us saying goodbye at all.”

He sighs, keeping his back to me. “I’m not saying goodbye. I need…”

When he doesn’t finish his sentence, I swallow hard and force down the almost consuming grief. “You need what?”

I don’t think anyone else would’ve noticed, but his shoulders slump ever so slightly when he looks down to his feet. “Let me go.”

Of course. I was the one who told him to move on, but he can’t unless I let him. He kept his promise. He did take care of me all those years, and even though I know it’s only fair to let him go, it also feels so very wrong on so many levels. I just can’t exactly pinpoint the feeling. Am I being selfish again? Too dependent? Afraid to stand on my own two feet? 

There is only one way to find out. “Okay.”

He doesn’t answer. 

Trying my best not to break down and cry for real, I say, “I’m *so* gonna miss you.”

Finally he turns around, faintly smiling. “No, you won’t. You’re gonna be busy painting that white fence of yours.”

Despite the sadness in the comment, I can’t help but smile a little. Staring at each other in intense silence, I know this is it. This is goodbye. 

What do you say to the person you owe your life to? To a person you love so much you’re not sure you will ever overcome the cold, gnawing pain inside your chest?

“I love you,” is all I come up with, and he looks down again, moving his weight from one foot to another before he shows me another ghost of a smile. 

“Yeah, well. Don’t forget, if you grow tired of the snowflake, I’m still second on the list.”

That makes me both laugh *and* cry. I can’t help it. I have no idea how to respond otherwise until a sudden wave of nausea causes me to blindly jump up and seek out the nearby bushes. For a few good minutes I think I’m about to choke in my misery, but eventually I manage to breathe again. I sink down to my knees and concentrate on taking in oxygen until the dry heaving is gone and the tears are all dried up. I’m too afraid to turn around and find him gone, so I decide to stay right here to test the theory of time healing all wounds and life going on just the same. 

While I close my eyes and wrap my arms around my legs, I suddenly realize there will be no tags to look after this time.


	35. Chapter 35

**Three years later – December**

“--and that’s when I broke his jaw.”

My friend Carol Danvers looks around in satisfaction, expecting us to support her rather violent breakup-story with the guy she was dating. It’s Friday night and, just like always, we’re celebrating the beginning of the weekend in the nearest bar.

Remy LeBeau, one of my co-workers and a friend also, is the first to respond, “Ouch, chérie. You don’t hit hommes when you have super strength.”

“What?” Carol asks rather rebelliously, frantically wiping her golden locks out of her face – a gesture that always makes me think of Miss Piggy’s passionate annoyance. “He kissed the bimbo! It was bad enough I had to pick him up and fly him to the nearest hospital. I would’ve rather left him suffer in his own misery.”

I try to hide my grin while I listen to their banter. They are always getting on each other’s nerves, but in the end, Carol and Remy are always good. They’d been working together for ages already, and Remy is too charming for anyone to stay mad at him. Unfortunately, he’s very aware of the fact. The bastard.

Even though Carol is officially my employer, and quite a few years older, she and I have become very close these past few years. She and Remy both have bikes as well, and so usually we take off on weekends while Bobby works on his own projects. Right now, he and his friends are restoring a 1961 Jaguar Roadster. It’s taking forever, but hey, whatever floats their boat. 

Carol’s a lawyer, and she takes mutant-discrimination cases only. She’s a mutant herself, obviously - she doesn’t have a private jet to fly ex-boyfriends to the hospital. She’s really strong and she can actually fly herself. So can my co-worker Warren, but he’s got huge wings. Carol just sort of defies gravity or something. Whatever. 

Anyway, most of my co-workers and new friends are mutants. Bobby doesn’t want me to hang around with them much, but it’s kind of difficult to meet new people outside the office. It’s easier to just make friends among colleagues. I can’t exactly hide my killer-skin, so a job among humans is hard to find. When Charles told me Carol needed a secretary, I didn’t hesitate to fill in the application form. Lucky for me, she hired me on the spot. 

I have been working here for almost three years now and I like it very much. Since the war mutants are more accepted in society, but we’re not entirely safe yet. The Friends of Humanity still exist. They’re just operating low-profile. Carol’s clients are usually victims of FoH-followers, and their information is very useful in locating those creeps. We pass all info to Charles, so our little law firm is in fact some sort of undercover operation, with Remy as our best fieldsman. 

The charming Cajun loves to hang out with the thugs and criminals, playing poker and cheating his way out of it. He’s some guy, but he’s one of my best friends around here. Speaking of which, he’s staring at me with those burning red eyes of his, a smile plastered on his handsome face. 

“Lost in thoughts again, petite? Thinking of all the things Remy could make you feel if you just say the magic words?”

He’s always flirting with me. At first it made me uncomfortable, but he does it all the time with pretty much every woman. I’m used to it now. 

“Not a chance, sugar,” I drawl, smiling. “I’m perfectly happy with the man back home.”

“That’s right, honey,” Carol leaps to my defense, like always. “Remy, go get yourself someone else to pester. No boys allowed from now on.” She shoos him out of our booth, and Remy is too smart not to listen. He manages to pout and mutters something that sounds a lot like “merde”, but he doesn’t want to mess with the nearly invulnerable woman next to me. Besides her super strength she can also curse like a sailor, and she wins pretty much every drinking game. You surely want her on your side, and I bet Logan would’ve liked her too. 

Damn. There I go again. Logan may have walked out of my life three years ago, but he’s still in my thoughts no matter how hard I try to move on. That horrible night turned into day eventually, but there are moments I still feel like I’m crouched down by the bushes, afraid to turn around and realize I’m all alone. 

“Anna?” Carol asks, using the name I picked for this new life. “Are you okay?”

Crap. I once again drifted off into *that* night. I simply can’t seem to banish it from my thoughts. 

Showing her a smile, I apologize, “Yeah, I’m sorry. Guess I was lost in thoughts again.”

She smiles back and bends a little closer. “Nervous about the wedding? Cold feet?”

Oh, God. The wedding. That’s the last thing on my mind right now. Bobby has asked me to marry him. Well, sort of. Pete and Kitty got married three months ago, and we more or less agreed that maybe it was time to get married as well. No proposal, no romance, no nothing. It was an agreement. Just like the rest of our relationship. I’m still not sure what I think about it. I’ve always pictured something less pragmatic, but then again, I’ve never pictured ending up with killer skin either. Sometimes life sneaks up on you and bites you in the ass like that. It creeps through the back door while you’re waiting at the front. 

“No, I’m not nervous. Not really,” I tell her. “It’s Bobby, after all. I’ve known him forever. I know what I’m getting into.”

Downing my drink, I look around to order another. I don’t get tipsy that easily. Stupid healing thing. I have to drink at least twice as much as the others. No wonder Logan always drank straight from the bottle. It’s faster that way. 

And… there I go again. It’s one of those days apparently. There are weeks I manage to live in peace, and there are days like today, when he’s in my thoughts all the time and when everything reminds me of him. A scent, a voice, a gesture, even clothes. I suddenly notice those biker boots he always wore, or a leather jacket. An Indian shaped buckle, his brand in jeans, or even a plain white shirt over a muscled chest. It’s exhausting to be so aware of someone who’s probably on the other side of the world. 

Carol’s sigh breaks my musing once again. “I wish I had married my high school sweetheart,” she mumbles dreamily. “He was such a cutie.”

“What happened?” I ask, ordering an entire bottle of vodka because when Carol and I are planning to get drunk we need lots of booze. 

“Nothing,” she answers with a wide grin. “He was a few years older, and I had zits and braces. He never knew I existed.”

Laughing, I roll my eyes. “I bet he’s sorry now.”

“Thank you, hon, but you’re off duty now. No need to suck up for money anymore.”

“How about sucking up for free drinks?”

She returns my smirk with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Deal.”

* * *

I managed to get wonderfully drunk tonight. Remy brought both Carol and me home because he’s a good friend like that. I wanted to invite him in, but Bobby hates him. It’s childish jealousy all over again, and there are times I like it because it means my now-fiancé still loves me, but there are also moments I want to knock some sense into him because I feel like he doesn’t trust me one bit. 

It’s late already, but said fiancé is still awake. He’s watching TV in bed, waiting for me to come home. He always does that, no matter what time it is. I’m not sure if he’s being a gentleman or if he wants to make sure I don’t elope with someone else. Usually I decide to pick the more romantic option, but today I’m tempted to listen to the more offensive one. I shove those thoughts in the back of my mind though. 

“Hey, handsome,” I drawl, taking a suggestive pose in the doorway because I feel sexy and drunk and so very, very horny. “Did you miss me?”

Bobby doesn’t take his pretty blue eyes off the TV-screen. “Not really. I’ve been watching Robocop.”

“Right,” I mutter, feeling my hunger instantly fade away in nausea, and therefore giving up my pathetic attempt to seduce my soon-to-be husband. “Gonna take a shower. A cold one. Again.”

While I make my way to our bathroom, I suppress the urge to slam the door. I should’ve known. It’s always like this. We usually have sex on Sunday. Sunday afternoon, to be more precise. We still have to plan it like some sort of a mission. We have to agree who’s wearing what, and what position we’re gonna try. We once decided to act silly and have sex at Bobby’s desk in his office on a Sunday afternoon, but that turned out to be the anticlimax of the century. 

I was wearing tights and a skirt, he’d brought a condom. We were both kind of nervous because there were people on his floor – we thought the chance of getting caught would add some excitement to the mix – and we both kept glancing at the door. I wasn’t even wet enough because we skipped foreplay altogether, and trust me when I tell you that without the luxury of kissing, foreplay is essential to keep certain body parts fitting smoothly. Let’s just say, ‘Yay for lubricated condoms.’ 

When we were done we both were kind of giddy, but that’s a piss-poor substitute when you’re aiming for horny, lets-play-secretary-while-you-fuck-me-on-your-desk sex. Needless to say, the Sunday afternoon missions are the ones I cherish because I still expect Bobby to call our whole pathetic sex life entirely off one day. It’s a miracle he’s still willing to go through all the fuss. I half expected him to fuck around already, but maybe I never gave him enough credit. Maybe decent men exist after all. 

There are times I wonder why I don’t call it off myself, but if I’m honest, the times he tries to make love to me are the only times I really experience physical interaction. I work a lot, and Bobby’s got quite a social life next to his job. I have to treasure the crumbs tossed my way. Even when I don’t feel like it, I let him fuck me anyway. Again, ‘Yay, lubrication.’

The snuggling afterwards makes up for a lot, but I still miss being kissed every single day. Kisses make a world of difference. The difference between feeling used and feeling loved. I can’t blame Bobby for it though. That one’s entirely on me. If I could just control my skin, my life would’ve been so much easier. Now I have nothing but tree memories of what it’s like to be kissed while Bobby pumps his way into oblivion. Two kisses of almost-death, and one brush of lips with a scarf in between. 

Of course I can always use my imagination, but I try not to think of other men when Bobby’s inside of me. When I *do* get lost in a fantasy once in a while, I make sure the man has no name and no face. When I’m alone in my bed and Bobby’s downstairs, I sometimes wonder what is worse, the idea I’d rather have a nameless, faceless man having his way with me, or thinking about someone I know in real life. Either way, I have to accept that this is the best I can get unless I can stop my horrible skin from sucking the life out of those who dare to come close. 

I should be grateful.

* * *

January.

Our entire house smells like apple pie. I love it. Staring over the front lawn, I see Bobby talking to our neighbors while he washes our car. They seem nice, keeping to themselves most of the time. I’m not sure if they know I’m a mutant, but I think their granddaughter is one as well, judging by her pretty, rainbow-colored hair. She always smiles at me when she skips past our fence to visit her grandparents. Maybe it’s our mutual weird hairdo. 

‘You think your white picket fence will protect you?’ 

Logan’s words pop up unexpectedly, and I hate it when it happens. 

‘If playing house is what you want, you have to get yourself a new watchdog.’

Sighing, I pick up my oven mittens and check the pie. 

Logan was right though. He doesn’t belong in this life. I’m having my perfectly mown lawn, my white picket fence, a decent fiancé, a stove to bake apple pie in, and maybe children in the near future. Everything’s perfect. Structured. Scheduled. Peaceful. And yet I can’t help thinking I’m living my parents’ life. The life I’d be living if I were normal. The life I tried to escape back in Meridian by dreaming about traveling to Anchorage. 

It makes me wonder, why am I so desperate to live it now?

* * *

February. 

Damn, it’s cold. Riding a bike in winter sucks. Bobby’s keeps telling me all the time to just sell the thing and buy a second car, but I can’t. It’s not *my* bike. I still consider this roaring monster Logan’s. There are times I expect him to show up on my doorstep to claim it back, so I take very good care of it. Both Carol and Remy offered lots of money, but I told them I’m borrowing it from a friend who’s traveling around the world. It’s not even that much of a lie. I have no idea how to define my nonexistent relationship with Logan nowadays, but it wasn’t a clean break so in my thoughts he’s still my friend. 

The night he left he assured me he wasn’t saying goodbye. I sometimes wonder what he meant because there hasn’t been any contact for three long years now. Charles and the others have stopped telling me his whereabouts. I think they simply assume we just grew apart. There never really were questions about our lack of contact. Maybe they don’t even know we haven’t spoken to each other in years. 

Whatever the case, I never ask how he’s doing. I know he disappeared for a few months after he left that night, but the last I heard was that he’s been doing Charles’ fieldwork again. The dirty jobs. The jobs others can’t or won’t do based on skills, morals, principles, and beliefs. I’d been hoping he’d stopped convincing himself he deserves those, but I guess it’s useless. According to Jubes, Logan’s back to square one when it comes to social behavior. He might be more withdrawn even - if that’s possible – and it hurts to know. 

Sometimes Bobby and I hop over to New York to visit our friends, but Logan’s never there. He still has a room though, and I occasionally pick up the faint scent of cigars. It makes my heart drop to my stomach every time, but so far he’s always out on some sort of a mission. I’m sure it’s all because of clever planning on his side, but I don’t complain. I have no idea what I‘d say if I happened to bump into him anyway. 

Sometimes I think he never had the balls to look me in the eye and tell me to fuck off properly. Depending on my mood I get either pissed or sad, but it still hurts just the same. I try to suppress those feelings the best I can. No use in dwelling over a lost almost-love. It might make a wonderful chick-flick, but being lovesick in real life is nothing but a pain in the backside. I’ll pass, thank you very much. 

Still, no matter how hard I try to avoid visiting the boathouse, I can still clearly remember that night. I remember waking up from a deep, dreamless sleep, my stomach empty, my limbs cold and stiff, reminding me time had passed by and apparently I was still there. 

I packed my stuff, ignored the shattered glass glistering in the pale morning light, and walked back to the Mansion to participate in the daily grind. Just like that. 

As days went by, there’d been questions about Logan’s sudden departure, and I’d truthfully told them he was chasing a lead. No one worried about it. They all knew him by then. He took off, but he always came back. The only difference was that he wasn’t coming back to *me* anymore. 

Of course, that was something the others didn’t need to know just then. I kept thinking I couldn’t bare the pitying looks, so I kept my mouth shut and buried my grief behind the façade of finally-having-my-own-home stress. I was determined to move on. 

And I did. 

But there are days I stop in front of the mirror to stare at my reflection. Funny how those years have passed and I still see a teen staring back at me. I’m twenty-three already, but I still have to show my ID to prove my age. I don’t look a day older than eighteen, thanks to my healing. It’s hard to forget someone when they’re such an important part of you. It’s hard to move on when that part of them is slowing you down.


	36. Chapter 36

March.

I’m going through a couple of files, sneaking peeks at Carol. She’s talking to someone on the phone, but her movements are missing their usual energy.

She doesn’t look too well lately. She’s lost weight, and she seems tired all the time. I’ve been asking her if she’s okay, but she always brushes it off, telling me she’s just working too hard. Last Friday, I had to look up something on her computer and I saw she had a doctor’s appointment. When she left the office early, she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to work at home. 

I don’t like it one bit. Remy’s worried too, but he gets the same answer. We agreed to keep en eye on her, and if she doesn’t look better soon, we’re gonna make her take a break. And while we’re at it, I might take a break myself. Planning a wedding is one big, insane circus. I’m sick and tired of it by now. Is there a way to cancel this all without causing major drama?

* * *

April.

“Good morning, chérie,” Remy greets me as I walk into the office, shivering and unceremoniously blowing my nose in a tissue. “Coffee?”

“’Morning, sugar. Yes, please.” I put my helmet in the closet behind my desk and sit down to change my boots for the more elegant shoes I keep in the lowest drawer. “Is Carol in already?”

He shakes his head and serves my coffee, along with a red rose. “Her office was still empty five minutes ago.” 

I take a dried out rose out of its small vase and replace it with the new, fresh flower. It’s a habit by now. I always get a red rose on Monday. I’ve stopped thanking him. Remy doesn’t do these kinda things to get gratitude. He does it because he likes doing it. 

Sitting opposite from me, he stirs his own mug and asks, “How was your weekend?”

“Horrible,” I grumble, knowing it’s not the answer he expected. 

I’ve been to Westchester to discuss the last details of my marriage. I should be all excited, but instead I can’t help but complain. 

“Dresses, flowers, cake, candles, gowns, rings, decorations – it’s such a fuss. What do I care about napkins not matching the color of the cake? I don’t even *want* a big wedding. Why am I doing all this?”

Remy grins. “Beats me, but Remy is happy to take the Icecube’s place if he’s not matching the color of your bouquet.”

Smiling, I roll my eyes. “I’m serious, Remy. Besides, you’re too late. There already is a second in line.” Remembering Logan’s last words, I add quietly, “Although I doubt he’s still willing. Not that it matters. I’m stuck anyway.” Before Remy can respond to my pity-party-for-one, I glance up and try my best smile. “At least it won’t rain on my wedding day. The advantages of knowing a weather Goddess.” 

The evident concern on my friend’s face increases the pain in my chest. I was doing a wonderful job ignoring it, but now I’m about to turn into a blubbering fool. No way am I gonna spill all my doubts here in the office. I’m going to get married next month. I can’t just cancel everything when I don’t really have a good explanation. The fact that it simply doesn’t *feel* right would only work for Logan. And maybe ‘Ro. She’s a gut-listening person as well. 

Realizing Remy is still observing me with those intense red eyes, I plaster a grin on my face and assure him, “I’m fine, sugar. Honest. Every bride is entitled to temporary insanity during the months before she’s getting married. Trust me. Let’s concentrate on Carol, okay? She’s the one with a problem. Not me.”

He doesn’t quite believe me, but I’m pretty sure he sees the silent plea in my eyes because he’s not asking anything more. 

“Bien, chérie. Just know Remy is here if you need someone to talk to.” Then he stands up and blows me a kiss. “Or to take Icecube’s place.”

“Yeah, yeah, you charming ape,” I return, glad he’s back to his flirting self. “Go spy on bad guys. I’ll spy on our boss.”

* * *

“Hello, hon. Did you survive?”

Carol walks in, carrying her black leather bag, her cell phone and some books. 

“Hardly,” I answer, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes. “How’re you?”

“Fine. Did the girls finally pick a dress?”

Her smile is just as fake as the one I showed Remy this morning. I’m not buying it for a second. 

“Yeah, they did. Jubes wanted yellow, Kitty wanted blue. They couldn’t agree and so I picked pink, just to annoy them.”

She grins. “You are deliciously evil. We could’ve been related.” Then she flops down on the same chair Remy sat on a few hours ago and stares at the rose between us. “How I always dreamt of a big wedding,” she says with an unusual dose of melancholy. “With friends, family, a handsome man--” She seems to catch herself and tosses me another fake smile. “Enjoy while you can, hon. Life’s too short to complain about the color of a dress.”

What the hell is wrong with her? She *always* bitches along with me, and *now* I suddenly get a cheesy pep talk? Gaping at her in disbelief, I realize this is even more serious than I thought. 

“You are sick,” I say. “Not just tired. Not the flu. You are really sick.”

She snorts. “What?! Don’t be silly! I’m fi--”

“I’m gonna touch you if you lie to me one more time,” I tell her, more snappily than I intended, and she narrows her eyes at me. 

“Is that a threat?”

What the hell. Maybe she’ll cave. 

“You betcha.”

Shocked, she blinks a few times, and I’m sure she’s thinking about squirming her way out of this, but suddenly she slumps in her seat. Defeated. 

“Okay. Yes. Yes, I’m sick. Cancer, to be precise.’

“Oh, my God,” I gasp. “When did you find out? How are you feeling? Did you start treatment already?”

She casts me a tired half-smile. “Honey, I’m invulnerable.”

Huh? Is she in denial or something?

“So?”

“Needles can’t get through my skin. They can’t hook me up for chemo. They can’t operate. No X-rays. Nothing.”

For a moment there isn’t a single thought popping up, but then I understand. Nothing from the outside can help her. Impenetrable skin turns out to be the cruelest barrier. Her best protection is now her worst enemy, just like mine is to me.

I shake my head and whisper, “No.”

She nods. “Yes. There is nothing they can do.”

“And I thought… I thought invulnerability was a blessing. I thought you’d never get hurt!”

“So did I,” she huffs, brushing her hair out of her face, showing me that familiar impatient annoyance for just a moment. “Until I heard this. All I can do is wait. Wait while it eats me from the inside out. Unless I drown myself. Or lock myself in the garage and breathe monoxide until I pass out. That should work.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I snap, glaring at her. “There has to be a way.”

She glares back just as cantankerously. “Don’t you think they’ve tried? It’s over. Done. Well, you know what? I’m not gonna wait and die slowly. The monoxide isn’t that bad. I’ve read about it a lot. I’ve already arranged my funeral and my will. All I have to do now is finish this case and then - see you on the flip side.”

Silenced by her cool pragmatism, I swallow hard. 

I don’t want this. I don’t want to lose her. I’ve lost so many people already. I don’t want to make new friends just to say goodbye again. I’m being selfish, I know, but still, I can’t let her go just like that. 

Before I actually think about it, I say, “I can help.”

“Thanks, hon,” she says absently, gathering her stuff to get to her office. “Are you willing to lock me in and throw away the key?”

“Cut it out, woman,” I order her, rolling my eyes. “You’re not gonna gas yourself. I mean, I can take you in.”

She freezes. “Sorry?”

“I can take you in. You can live inside my head. With me.”

Falling back into the seat again, she gazes at me. “Are you serious? Are you *crazy*? Why would you do that?”

There are a thousand thoughts going through my head right now. Why? Because I want to help the woman I secretly consider my big sister. That’s the main reason. But there is more. 

I remember the essay I had to write for ethics class. It was about willingly taking in other people, and it was Logan’s idea. I was stuck until he asked what I would do if the Professor wanted me to take his powers in order to keep Cerebro up and running. My powers would’ve been used for a higher cause. 

I remember writing I didn’t have the right to play God, and so I was certain I’d never take someone’s life force for selfish reasons. If there were other reasons, something that would rule out all ethic obstacles, I’d consider it, but otherwise it would be out of the question. Little did I know I’d live my essay one day. Little did I know I wouldn’t be so righteous. 

Once again I’m confronted with all my flaws. I’m not superhero material. I’m not an X-Man. X-Women. X-Mutant. Whatever. I’m selfish. I’ve always been selfish, and desperate times call for desperate measures. If I take Carol in, maybe the wedding will be cancelled. Maybe I can blame Carol for confusing me. After all, Logan’s personality merged with mine as well. Why shouldn’t hers? 

After getting my thoughts sorted out, I only give her half an answer, “I want to do it because I’ve lost too many people already. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

I feel tears welling up but I refuse to let them spill over. I also refuse to tell her that there’s more to it. Maybe I can use her personality to change. Maybe I can become the adventurous girl I was before all this. Before I thought living in a house with a white picket fence was the answer to all my problems. Taking in Carol would help her, and it might also be very good for me.

Carol doesn’t have a clue about my underlying motives. Her eyes are suspiciously watery as well. “I… I don’t know what to say. I can’t… no. It wouldn’t be right, would it?”

“Right, wrong, black, white. All’s fair in love and war. It’s *my* head. I can decide who I want to share it with. You’re more than welcome. If you’re willing.”

She stares at me. Sizing me up to make sure I mean it. I meet her blue eyes without a doubt in my mind. I want this. It’s the least I can do for her. And for me. 

It takes several seconds before she realizes I’m serious. Sighing, she nods in hesitant resignation. “Okay. I need some time to arrange things, but if the offer still stands by then, I’ll gladly take you up on it.”

I smile despite the horrible situation. “You got yourself a deal. Welcome to the loonies club.”

* * *

“Rogue?”

Somewhere far away someone is calling my name. Charles? What’s Charles doing in my room while I’m asleep?

There is an annoying machine beeping close to my right, and I have an itch on my forehead. When I try to open my eyes and lift my hand to scratch, I hear him calling my name again. 

“Rogue? Is that you?”

“No,” I joke, not expecting my voice to sound too hoarse and whispery. “I’m the tooth fairy.”

There is a quiet chuckle, and I hear the soft, familiar buzzing sound of his wheelchair moving from the head of my bed to my side. 

Blinking, I shield my eyes from the bright light right above me. 

Where the hell am I? The lab? Am I in the Mansion? Huh? 

“Professor?” I ask, feeling a little fuzzy but managing to sit up straight anyway. 

“Welcome back, dear,” Charles says, smiling his reassuring smile.

Pulling at the itchy wire attached to my forehead with tape, I ask, “Back? Where did I go? How did I get here?”

I don’t remember driving up here. Last thing I remember was working late on the Jenkins’ case with Carol. What happened? Is it my wedding day already? Did I pass out or something? I’m not wearing my gown. I’m dressed in the Mansion’s sweatpants and a T-shirt. 

What the hell am I doing here?

Probably sensing all the questions tumbling over each other in my head, Charles’ reassuring face falls. He leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together in his lap. 

“Do you know what day it is today?”

Staring at him blankly, I try, “Thursday?”

Because yesterday was Wednesday and I had to have some time to travel up here. That reminds me, shouldn’t I be at work right now? Did anyone call Carol to tell her I wouldn’t be in today? Where’s Bobby? 

“Professor?” I ask, when he doesn’t answer. “What’s going on? How did I end up here? Did I bump my head or something?”

I don’t have a headache. In fact, I feel fine. 

He sighs. “You’ve been gone for quite a while, dear.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

Did I run away or something? I vaguely remember wanting to, but that was before I talked to Carol. Before our deal. I didn’t actually pack my stuff and leave, did I? 

“Rogue,” Charles says calmly, “you’ve touched Carol. She passed away. You’ve been gone for nearly six months.”


	37. Chapter 37

October. 

Six months. I’ve missed out on *six* months. Where the hell have I been?

I’m sitting on a bed in one of the Mansion’s guestrooms, staring at my wedding ring while Bobby’s hovers. There is so much I want to know. So much I want to talk about, but right now there are three sentences flashing in big, neon letters inside my brain: 

I’m married. 

Carol could touch. 

She’s gone. 

Thousands of questions are fighting their way to the surface, and I’m trying to grasp one topic at a time but I can’t decide which one to pick first. 

“I missed out on six months *and* my wedding day,” I say, still not quite sure what this all means. What I’m supposed to do. What I’m supposed to feel. 

“We can watch the video,” Bobby offers, and if I wasn’t feeling this *weird*, this conflicted, this disorientated, I probably would’ve laughed. 

I can’t believe all this. How can I have *missed* six months? It feels like I touched Carol *yesterday*. Is this some sort of creepy time-travelling thing? And if so, is there a way back as well? That warm summer day when I kissed David would make a nice new starting point. Everything went downhill from there. Maybe if I’d--

“Do you want something?” Bobby breaks my musing. “A drink? Something to eat?”

“What? No.” I don’t feel hungry. Maybe Carol ate something before Charles erased her completely? Christ, this is odd. “But… tea would be nice,” I answer carefully, casting him an unsure smile. “Thanks.”

My now-husband shrugs a bit clumsily, answers my smile with one of his own. He seems glad to leave and actually *do* something. He’s always been restless like that. 

Kicking off my shoes so I can lie down for a while, I realize I have to provide an explanation for what I did soon. Bobby and Charles only have Carol’s story, not mine. I said I don’t remember everything yet, and that they have to give me some time, but in truth, I’m stalling. 

I knew all the risks. I knew it could’ve ended up in mental suicide. Hell, maybe, if I’m really honest, that was exactly what I was hoping for had the merging not worked. Of course I can’t tell them all that, but I don’t want to dish up some bullshit story about sacrificing myself for a friend either. It wouldn’t be fair. I had selfish reasons as well. 

Wait a minute. Is this why Logan despised being called a hero? Snorted when someone mentioned his bravery? Was he trying to escape life, too, when he healed me the second time? He knew the risks as well, right? What if his decision wasn’t a heroic sacrifice? He was suicidal at the time. Bringing me back to life could be the perfect excuse to leave his. It would be a bargain of sorts. 

Damn, that’s some kind of wake up call. In fact, it’s a rather rude slap back into reality. If it’s true, it’s a serious elimination of all romantic fantasies I once had about the Statue of Liberty incident. 

I’m so lost in thoughts, Bobby’s gentle knock on our door almost makes me jump. 

“Oh! You startled me,” I tell him a little breathlessly, and somehow it comes out as an accusation. 

He puts down the tray. “Sorry.”

Poor guy. He’s the last one who should apologize. Taking in Carol was something I never discussed with him. I decided it on a whim. He suddenly got stuck with an entirely different fiancé, and he said ‘I do’ to a stranger. How awful. 

Should I feel guilty? I’m sure it’s sick, but deep down I kinda like the thought. I sometimes felt like I was *living* with a stranger. This should make us even somehow. Am I a bitch now?

“Why didn’t she postpone the marriage?” I ask, doing my best to shake off all underlying hostility towards my husband. 

“I’m sure it’s in there,” he answers, busying himself with our drinks and vaguely gesturing to the envelope on the desk nearby. 

Charles handed me a letter from Carol. A goodbye-letter, because she’s really gone. He removed her from my head, separated us before we could merge. She, Bobby and Charles had all agreed on it, and Charles assured me it had been the only option left, but I’m still pretty upset about it. I’m still examining those feelings. Am I grieving because I’ve lost a very dear friend, or am I upset because she was supposed to be my ticket to freedom?

I haven’t read her letter yet. I’m going to, but I wanted to pretend she’s in Boston and I’m here in Westchester a little while longer. Embrace denial and your life will be wonderfully oblivious. Still, bliss can’t last forever.

Glaring at the harmless-looking white paper, I ask, “Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Because *I* sure as hell would’ve. 

Bobby’s much more decent. “It’s yours,” he states, like it’s the only obvious answer. 

Ugh. Charles’ ethics lessons obviously have rubbed off on him, but I can almost hear Logan’s scoff, ‘Goddamn do-gooders’.

Hiding my thoughts in a half-shrug, I ungenerously agree. “I guess.”

“You want it?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Bobby puts down my tea on the nightstand, and then picks up the envelope. 

“Do you want to be alone or…?”

He’s trying so hard to be polite, and I can’t help but feel like we’re familiar strangers. Like, when you suddenly run into your best friend from when you were eleven. The one you shared all your secrets with. You *know* each other, but at the same time you don’t. 

“Would you mind?”

He shakes his head and picks up his coffee. “No. It’s okay. I’ll be in the garage.”

“Thanks,” I reply absently, bracing myself for what’s about to come. 

Opening the envelope, I pull out the letter and read:

_'Dear Anna,_

_Words can’t describe the way I’m feeling. I’m grateful. Sad. Scared. And guilty._

_Grateful, because of your selfless offer. Sad, because when you read this, I’ll be gone. Scared, because I have no idea what to expect. No idea if I’ll finally join the empty body I watched being buried. No idea if there is something after death. And guilty, because I was almost tempted to never find out._

_You probably wonder what I’m talking about. Well, after I realized you were gone, I was tempted to believe I’d got a second change. Suddenly I had a healthy body, youth, a man at least a decade younger than me, and the best damn tits I’ve ever seen. It’s not an excuse, but wouldn’t you be tempted to keep it all?_

_Yes, I’m aware my selfishness is in sharp contrast with your noble deed. I hope you can forgive me one day._

_I tried to be you for about a week. Pretended, thinking you’d surface again, secretly hoping you wouldn’t. It was the most horrible week of my entire life. My own funeral. Your wedding. Chaos at the office (Warren is in charge now), and I had to get to know the boy I suddenly lived with, without revealing my true identity. It was exhausting, confusing, and wrong. I’m so very sorry._

_I’m also sorry if I gave the wrong answer on your wedding day. I’ve found the shoebox in the back of your closet. The one with the pictures and half of a scarf. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Bobby, but I know the man in the pictures is Wolverine. I know his reputation. I know he lived in Westchester around the time you were there as well, and I know Charles is glad he’s on our side, but I never knew you were this close to him. Why didn’t you tell me? Seems like you were very good friends. Maybe even more?_

_Your scandalous bike is his, isn’t it? Is he the reason you never wanted to sell it to me? Is he the reason you sometimes were miles away with your thoughts? Is he the reason you were never *truly* excited about your marriage? If he is, then I’m sorry for that as well. I hope you put up one hell of a fight before you let him go. He obviously means a lot to you._

_Maybe it’s a weird topic, but I want you to know I never slept with Bobby. You’ve probably heard, your skin didn’t work while I was in control. According to Charles, there has to be a mental switch, otherwise it wouldn’t be possible._

_I don’t know if it’s any help, but it was naturally ‘off’ as long as I wasn’t aware of the danger. I guess it’s nearly impossible for you to stop thinking about it for even a minute, but I had a hard time being aware that one brush of skin could be fatal to others. As soon as I did - Bobby pointed out several times a day that I wasn’t supposed to walk around without gloves, I guess I made him nervous - I felt it flipping ‘on’ again._

_Is that useful? Can you manage to forget something you’ve been trained to remember? I hope so. It would make this disastrous adventure worth something._

_Well, I guess this is it then. I’m sorry we never got a chance to say goodbye for real, but I’m going to use my normal ‘goodbye’ anyway: see you on the flip side, girl! If there is such a thing as an afterlife (and if I deserve a place in uptown), I’ll be there, enjoying myself with the male angels. If they all look like Warren, you know I’ll be having a good time. I’ll save you a spot, hon. Just don’t hurry to get here soon._

_Love,  
Carol_

_PS: Tell Remy I’ll save him a spot as well. I’ll prepare the girl-angels not to fall for his charm that easily. I know he likes the chase. Oh, and I threw away all your turtleneck sweaters. Show off those tits while they still defy gravity!'_

Sniffling, I laugh about those last words. That’s Carol alright. God, I miss her. And Remy, too. I want to go home. I want to talk to him, and I want to visit Carol’s grave to tell her we’re good. To thank her for the certainty there *is* a way to turn off my skin after all. She gave me hope again. 

My tea has turned cold, but I drink it anyway. I fold the letter back into the envelope, and carefully tuck it away in my suitcase. It will end up in the shoebox she mentioned. The one with the pictures of Logan and me and my scarf. The simple carton box, containing the most precious things in my life. All the precious things I’ve lost.

* * *

A week later, and I’m still trying to recover from everything that’s happened. Bobby’s back in Boston, but Charles doesn’t want me to leave yet. He’s monitoring me closely to see if I will be getting Carol’s mutation permanently. As I understand it, she had her powers for about a week, and then they faded gradually, just like the times I’d absorbed Logan. 

Charles managed to erase Carol before our personalities could merge consciously, but physically there already are changes in my DNA. Hank’s doing some tests to see what they can do to end the process, but I don’t want them to stop further transformation. As far as I’m concerned, super strength is never inconvenient, invulnerability isn’t bad either, and I’m actually looking forward to flying with Warren during our lunch break. I’ll welcome Carol’s powers. I’ll finally have something useful, a gift, instead of a burden. 

I still have to convince Charles about those feelings. He seems determined to prevent another forced mutation. God knows why. I bet Erik would’ve encouraged it. I might even end up being a class five mutant one day. Rogue - uber-mutie. Yep. I’ll be Erik’s wet dream, alright. 

Great. Now that’s an image I could do without. Gross. Let’s move on to a less-icky-yet-just-as-weird topic – my wedding.

I’ve seen my wedding video. It was… bizarre. I saw myself, but it wasn’t me. At one point I even recognized Carol’s Miss Piggy gesture, when her veil was annoying her and she pushed it out of her face. It was quite a shock to actually see my life go on while I wasn’t there. 

It sort of pissed me off that no one noticed. I’m sure Logan would’ve known, but he wasn’t there, of course. I wonder if anyone has told him about me. About what happened. I’m afraid to ask. What if they did and he didn’t give a damn? 

It’s strange to be here for an entire week. Bobby and I saw our friends regularly, but it was always on weekends, and they usually came over to us. The times we slept here were always a bit weird. It was always too awkwardly obvious that we’d left and the school went on just the same. New students, new teachers, new X-Men. We felt replaceable somehow. Well, that’s what I felt. If I’m honest I don’t have a clue what Bobby thought of it. We never talked about it. 

I do feel a bit important now. Charles is spending so much time with me again, it’s almost like I matter. Like he cares. I’m not quite used to it yet. 

Besides monitoring my newest mutation, we’ve also been trying to find the mental switch to turn off my skin. He said I’m probably too overwhelmed by everything to actually grasp it any time soon, but he’s given me some tips about how and where to search when I’m back home again. It looks a lot like meditation, so I guess I really have to sit down and try this time. 

I had to tell my story to all of my friends these last few days, and they all told me theirs. Well, mainly they tried to apologize for not knowing sooner I wasn’t there. They all thought I was behaving silly because I was nervous for the wedding and because I’d lost a dear friend a week before. A part of me understands, but another part is disappointed. Jesus Christ, doesn’t anyone *know* me around here?

I’ve learned that, as soon as Carol revealed her true identity after that first week, she more or less stayed in the lower levels of the Mansion and kept to herself. For almost six months she and Charles worked hard to try and dig me up, but it seemed futile. It was Carol who suggested that maybe disappearing altogether might bring me back. She thought she was unconsciously too dominant for me. 

Eventually, Charles agreed.

I still keep up the ‘I have no idea what happened’ shit. Which is partly true. Carol and I had finished the Jenkins case on a plain Wednesday night in April, and that was that. Everything was set. We’d agreed that I’d touch her, hold on as long as needed, and then I’d call an ambulance and tell them I found her in her office, unconscious. I’d also tell them about her disease, and her medical records would confirm the story. 

Those last moments were strange. We cried, we hugged, and yet we didn’t really say goodbye. We both thought she was gonna be with me for as long as I lived. It must’ve been oddly surreal for her. It sure was bizarre for me, and I was scared as well. A part of me didn’t want to know I could *actually* kill someone with my skin. Somehow I hoped it would turn off eventually. Turn off before I took everything, like an emergency stop, but it didn’t apparently. In fact, something went wrong. I didn’t just take her in, she accidentally *replaced* me. 

Was it really an accident? I’m still not sure. Maybe I gave up too easily. Maybe she fought a little harder than she admitted in her letter, but Bobby said Carol told him she was suddenly lost inside my body. She couldn’t find me anywhere. She had to call the ambulance herself, telling the whole bullshit story about fainting in her office and all. When they asked her her name, she almost said ‘Carol’, but then she caught herself and gave them mine. And that’s when the whole charade had started. 

She went home, to my house, and she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t tell Bobby that his fiancé was somewhere lost inside her own body, and so she pretended to be me. She tried to imitate my accent, my habits, my life, hoping I’d be back eventually. Thinking I’d be back for my wedding day at least. 

Hours became days, and suddenly she found herself dressed in white, saying ‘I do’ to a boy she hardly knew. She worried about the wedding night, felt she had no right to sleep with Bobby, and so she confessed the whole shebang right before entering their suite. 

God, what chaos that must’ve been. The shock.

He never noticed.

And maybe… maybe that’s what’s bothering me most of all.


	38. Chapter 38

November. 

I miss Carol. I miss Remy as well. I miss my home, my bike, and my *life*. I’ve been here for three weeks now, and all I do is think and play guinea pig. I’m fed up with it. Fed up with waiting for my powers to manifest. Fed up with being a freak among freaks. Charles can kiss my ass. I’m going to celebrate my birthday this Saturday, and then I’m going back to Boston, powers or no powers. 

I’ve been trying to find out what Carol had been doing while I was gone. I want to know who she talked to, what clothes she’d been wearing. I even want to know what she ate. It’s *my* body after all. It’s *my* life. It sucks most of the time, but damnit, it’s *mine*, and I don’t like missing six fucking months of it. 

I accusingly glare at Bobby and bring up the subject for about the fifth time this weekend. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice it wasn’t *me*.” 

I can’t seem to let it pass. It’s like it’s becoming a bigger thing every day. 

He sighs and offers tiredly, “She looked like you.” 

“Well, no shit, Sherlock!” I snap, my annoyance turned up another notch by his lame excuse. “I just can’t believe you don’t know me well enough to recognize my habits. I know for a fact she doesn’t like peanut butter. I *love* peanut butter. Didn’t you notice I suddenly stopped eating it?”

He frowns at me, but again he patiently answers, “No, I didn’t.”

I can’t let this pass just like that. I can’t understand why he never missed *me*. 

“Why not?” I press the matter, knowing he’s gonna stop talking soon. Because no matter how hard I try, he *never* argues with me. He just shuts up and waits until I’m done bitching. Since it’s kinda stupid to fight all by yourself, I’m usually done soon enough. But not today. Oh, no. Not today. 

Ready to provoke, to prod and bitch, I continue, “I happen to know you like Brussels sprouts. And you have two sugars in your coffee and no milk. I know you like to sleep on your left side, and that you put your wallet and your keys in the top drawer of the nightstand after work. I also know that you always put on your left sock first, and you always drink a glass of water before you go to bed. Those kinda things. Those *stupid* kinda things. The things that make you *you*. Don’t you tell me you don’t know my things after six years of being together. *Six* goddamn years and you *still* don’t know me?!”

Staring at his shoes, he sighs again. 

I hope he’s gonna hyperventilate and faint, because I’m almost bursting out of my skin here. I was *gone*, and he didn’t even *know*. 

“Look,” he tries to reason with me. “We’ve been through this before. I thought you were acting funny because of the wedding. Everyone thought you were nervous.”

“Fuck everyone!” I yell, “This is about you! And me! About us!”

And there he goes again. All closed up and determined not to respond until I’m calm, and a part of me is whispering that he’s right. I never even discussed all this with him. I didn’t tell him I was going to absorb Carol. I never asked if he was okay with it. I never asked if he was ready to deal with the possible side effects of another personality in my head. If he was ready to deal with possible new powers. I never discuss anything with him anymore. It doesn’t seem to matter anyway. Sometimes I think he just doesn’t care. Sometimes I think he’d rather have Carol back. At least she didn’t nag him all the time. It makes me wonder, did he want her? She was touchable in my body. 

Narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, “Did you want to sleep with her?”

His head snaps up. “Of course not.”

“Why not? She was touchable.”

Now would be a really good time to tell me my skin was never an issue. 

“It wouldn’t be right. She wasn’t you.”

Oh. 

Oh, well. I didn’t expect that. Is that good or bad? I don’t have a clue how to interpret that answer. I have been *me* for the last three weeks, and he still doesn’t seem eager to pick up our Sunday-fuck. Maybe it’s because we’re here at the Mansion? Or does he need time to get used to me after being gone for so long? Is he trying to give me space to settle into my own skin again? To find the switch to turn off and catch up on all those years?

I know it’s stupid, but it annoys me beyond belief that Carol knew how to control my skin, and I still can’t. Years of trying *so* hard to find a solution, only to get disappointment and bitterness, and all I have to do is to *not* think about it. 

Right. 

Maybe when I’m old and senile *that* will work.

* * *

February.

I’m back in Westchester for my monthly check-up. I’d managed to convince Charles I was better off at home, and so finally, he released me from my freak-status and let me leave with my husband at the end of November. 

I feel pretty good, all things considered. Carol’s powers are slowly surfacing, but I can handle them just fine. I can’t really fly just yet, but I’m able to hover a bit. I really don’t think coming here every month is necessary. I’m sure Hank’s got more important stuff to do, but Charles insists. I bet he wants to keep my file up to date or something. Whatever. 

Lost in thoughts, I somehow end up before Logan’s room. I don’t really know how I got here. I usually avoid this part of the house like the plague. 

The door is closed, and it seems like the dark wood is warning me not to enter. I have no right to be here. I don’t belong in Logan’s life anymore, and I really want to turn around, but still, I try the doorknob, just to prove myself a closed door won’t scare me away. 

It’s open. 

Peeking over my shoulder to check if I’m truly alone, I hurry in and close the door behind me. Logan must’ve been here recently. I pick up his lingering scent without even trying. When was that? I’m still having a hard time getting these things right. Was he here this morning? Did he hear I was coming over? Did he leave because of me? If so, who keeps him informed? 

My heart’s racing, and I nervously glance around again. 

This is the closest I’ve been to him in years, but the room still looks awfully impersonal. Spartan even, despite the luxurious furniture. It lacks any trace of personality, any trace of his presence, except for his scent now mixing with mine. Would he notice it when he comes back? Recognize it as mine? Would he even care?

Cautiously taking two steps into the room, I half expect him to come out of the bathroom any moment. His scent is stronger near the bed, and I even smell his toothpaste now. Is it possible we barely avoided each other? That he really only left this morning?

A quick look in the bathroom tells me that the shower is slightly wet, and a moist towel’s carelessly draped over the towel bar. There are even a few droplets of water in the sink. Goddamn. He really was here just a few hours ago. 

Shivering, I hurry back to the room to sit on the bed, rubbing my arms. 

A few hours. He was here a few hours ago. Slept in this bed a few hours ago. Packed his bag and *left* a few hours ago. Why didn’t Charles tell me this morning? Why didn’t he even casually mention it during small talk? Surely *he* must know what’s going on between us. *He* must know how I miss Logan still. How I long to hear something – anything – about him. How I long to hear something *from* him, although I’m trying really hard to stop hoping any day now. It’s been four years already.

Realizing I haven’t talked to him longer than the time we’ve been friends, I feel my chest tighten. It’s like the ever-present void inside of me has suddenly turned into a lake of tears, and I turn and grab his pillow to muffle sudden, hysterical sobs. 

I don’t care if Logan will be able to smell it. I don’t care if he’ll notice my mascara smeared all over the pillow. Why should I care if he doesn’t either? If he did, he could’ve called me. Just a stupid phone call. Something like, ‘Hey, kid. How you’re doin’? Fine? Good. Me, too. Talk to you later, okay? Bye.’ 

Now *that’s* not too difficult, is it? Is that unreasonable to ask? Is that too *fucking* unreasonable?

My pain slowly changes into anger. I’ve always liked that feeling much better. I can deal with anger. I *like* being angry. Anger is instant energy. Pain is, well, painful. 

I frantically wipe away my tears and take a few deep breathes. I’m sick and tired of *waiting*. I’m sick and tired of leaving it all to *him*. So he couldn’t deal with the situation – it’s *his* fault I’m still with Bobby anyway. 

That night when we went out for the first time and introduced ourselves again, *he* was the one who told me not to break up when I wanted to. *He* told me to wait until I was less confused about my feelings. Ha! See where *that* has gotten me. I’m *married* now. Married to someone who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on inside of me. And vice versa. 

Bobby and I may seem fine on the outside, but I feel like we’re drifting apart with each month that passes. I’ve always known we don’t have that much in common, but now I feel I have to *search* for topics we can safely talk about. Usually it’s about groceries, or dinner, or who’s taking out the trash. Other topics only seem to trigger uncomfortable silences. Silences I want to fill with talking about everything that has happened, while Bobby seems to close up every time I try. 

At first, I thought my whole adventure with Carol ended up disastrously but now I think my six-months nap has done me good. I never really noticed what different lives Bobby and I have been leading. I worked too much. I hardly noticed we never talked. I did all my talking to Remy and Carol, and now that Carol’s gone, I want Bobby to fill that gap. 

Is that unreasonable of me? I want to know how this has affected my husband. I want to know his feelings. I think he’s mad at me for not telling him I was going to take in Carol – I know I’d be, but he says he’s fine. 

He’s lying. He has to be. How can he be fine? How can he *not* blame me? I think he might be avoiding a fight because our marriage is too fragile to take it. We might end up saying things we’ve been thinking all along. Things we’ve been holding back for years. Things that force us to face the truth, and if I’m honest, I’m almost *hoping* it’ll come to that. The whole walking-on-egg-shells is not my thing. I’ve come to a point where I’d rather be on my own than tiptoeing my way through marriage for the rest of my life. 

Closing my eyes, I clutch Logan’s pillow against my stomach. 

Isn’t that all kinds of swell? Hardly married for a year – ten months actually, and already I’m thinking about a divorce. And in Logan’s room, of all places. What’s wrong with me? Why do I always end up bitter and melancholic when I’m in New York? It’s so much easier to pretend I have a life back in Boston. Is it because there are too many memories floating around? 

Like, when Logan gave me sheet music in the Rec Room on movie night. I’d kissed him on the cheek, making him feel uncomfortable. Did he love me back then already? Or was he still doing his ‘brotherly protector’ act? When did his feelings change? And why? What did I do? Was it because Jean wasn’t there? Was I second best, like Emma once said?

I think about the awkward talk with ‘Ro about sleeping in Bobby’s room on my eighteenth’s birthday. She suspected something wrong even back then. She was trying to tell me something, to warn me, but I was too busy living a lie. I bet she wouldn’t be too surprised if I announced a divorce. I bet she wouldn’t even be surprised if I tell her I still love Logan. Always have. 

But I’m way ahead of things. I don’t want to give up this easily. Not without a fight. I’m married now, and even though *I* never said ‘I do’ to my husband, I still want to make it work. I don’t take marriage that lightly. I want to know I’ve done everything I possibly could before I admit defeat. Still, if I’m honest, I should’ve stopped out relationship years ago.

Why didn’t I break up then? Why was I so desperately holding on to something that simply wasn’t there? Was I *that* insecure? What changed me? Time? Carol?

These last few months I’ve been feeling quite comfortable in my own skin. Maybe for the first time in ages. I’m back to work, but I don’t work sixty hours a week anymore. Warren isn’t as ambitious as Carol, so I don’t have to work late, and after everything that’s happed – everyone thinks I had a burn-out – I decided to work four days instead of five. To take it slow. To think. To work on my control. To just… be.

I’m using my day off to walk around without my gloves. To relax, to get used to the unusual bare feeling. To get comfortable enough to forget the danger. Charles and Hank thought it was a good idea, and although it wasn’t easy in the beginning, I think I’m slowly starting to settle inside myself. After every day off, I feel like I’ve unpacked a moving box and given it all a place somewhere. Like I’m merging with different pieces of myself. Pieces I didn’t want to accept at first. I’m becoming *me*. 

Of course, the first days after I got home I felt too restless. Too useless. I wanted to *do* something, not vegetate on the couch and watch Oprah and other emo-stuff. But as time went by, I got used to bawling my eyes out. I realized it feels good to use other people’s misery to get rid of your own, and lately, when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, I notice a small smile on my lips. I hear myself humming when I walk around without my gloves. I actually look forward to my days off now. 

I wonder what Logan would think of this new me. 

I suppose I could call him. I never did, but I still know his number. I don’t have a clue what to tell him though. I supposed I could ask how he’s doing. Something like, ‘Hiya, Logan! Remember the kid you picked up in Laughlin City? The one with the white streaks and a hero-worship syndrome? Yeah, that’s me. So, listen, I’m in your room right now, thinking about old times and hugging your pillow. Did you really love me once? Because if you did, I’m really sorry I broke your heart and betrayed your trust. Not that it’s an excuse or anything, but I want you to know you broke mine first. Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way… how’s it going?’

Right. 

Bad idea. Very bad idea. 

And yet, what would he do if I called? What would he say? Would he try to act normal? Pick up where we left off? Would he be angry? Hurt, maybe? 

Nah. It’s been four years already. Logan isn’t the kind of man who clings to love – or obligation mistaken for love – that long. I’m sure he’s moved on. Just like I’m trying to do. Besides, I’m sure he doesn’t have that old cell anymore. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna ask anyone, but… it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? Just dial and see for myself if the number is still valid. Should I? 

Eyeing the phone on the desk, my heart rate speeds up again. 

What the hell. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? He answers and has forgotten all about me? Well, maybe that will put me back on track. A healthy dose of realism never hurt anyone. 

I get up, throw the pillow back on the bed and force my legs to take the required steps. I lift the receiver and dial. My heart is about to explode, and it seems like I suddenly don’t know how to breathe properly. I expect an out-of-service message, so when I get an actual connection, I’m so very startled I plant the receiver back with such force I almost crush the phone *and* the desk. 

Oh, my God! It’s still working! What if he checks his display? He’ll see he’s got a call from the mansion. Maybe he’ll even call back?

I will myself to take a gulp of air and order my thoughts. 

Let’s be reasonable here. Probably all his calls are from the mansion. If he calls back, no one will suspect *I* called. All I have to do is tiptoe my way out of here and all problems will be solved. 

I hastily smooth his bedcovers, turn the pillow around so the smudgy mascara stains facing down, and wipe my face. Then I listen for sounds in the hallway, and when I don’t hear any, I quietly sneak out. 

Well, hysteria aside, that wasn’t so bad. It actually makes me giggle a little. I feel sixteen all over again. God, I’m such a twit. I can’t even make a phone call. 

I might be a super mutant by now, I’m obviously still no superhero.


	39. Chapter 39

June. 

“Oh, my God! ‘Ro! I can touch!” I shout excitedly, jumping around in my kitchen and getting tangled in the telephone cord. 

The voice on the other end matches my enthusiasm. “Really? That’s wonderful news! What happened? Congratulations!” 

“Yes!” I cry out, still shaking and clutching the receiver. “Yes, it’s so… just so… Oh, my God!”

Ororo smiles, I can hear it. “Tell me! Tell me!”

Staring at a bare, bloodied hand, I still can’t quite comprehend everything that just happened. 

“Do you remember Prissy? The neighbours’ granddaughter?”

“The one with the coloured hair?”

“Exactly. Well, she’s here. Visiting Mr. and Mrs. Rosworth. She was playing outside, and I saw her when I was cleaning the kitchen counter. I waved. She waved back. Next thing I know, she trips and bumps her head against my fence. I rushed outside to see if she’s okay, thinking she’d be crying, but when I got to her, she was lying still, bleeding from a cut on her forehead. She wasn’t moving at all!” 

I gasp for breath and vaguely wonder if I’m making any sense here. 

“I suddenly went all calm and checked her breathing, her heart. Mr. Rosworth came running outside as well. I told him to call 911. She was unconscious, but slowly coming to. I tried to make her lie still. Talked to her. Caressed her face, held her hands, told her a story, things like that. Well, the ambulance came eventually, and they took her to the hospital. Mrs. Rosworth went along while Mr. Rosworth stayed home and called her parents. I went inside again, shaking like a leaf. And then… then I realised I hadn’t been wearing my gloves. I’d touched Prissy the whole time skin on skin, and nothing had happened!”

“Oh, honey! That’s quite a story! Is Prissy alright? Are you okay?”

Swallowing hard, I’m suddenly very tired, and so I sink down on the floor. “I’m fine. I don’t know about Prissy, though. She was crying at the end. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Aw, the poor little thing,” ‘Ro sighs, but then picks up the lighter tone again. “So when are you coming over? I’m sure Charles will want to talk about this.”

“Well…” I pause. “I haven’t even talked to Bobby yet. He’s in a meeting right now. I couldn’t get a hold of him. You’re the first to know. We’re supposed to have dinner at his parents’ this weekend, so… maybe next week?”

“I’ll tell Charles, and Hank of course. You are going to celebrate this wonderful news, okay? Go out for dinner. Buy something sexy! I’m sure Bobby will be delighted as well. It’s great news!”

I grin. “It is, isn’t it? Thanks, ‘Ro. You know--”

I’m getting all emotional here, and I can hear Ororo’s voice wavering a little as well. 

“Any time, sweetie. See you soon!”

* * *

July. 

Bobby’s zapping his time away, hanging on the couch, and I’ve been chatting with Jubes on the computer. We’ve been talking about my new wardrobe because I can wear anything I want now, and about my sex life. Jubes assumed we’ve been shagging like crazy these last few weeks, but I didn’t want to tell her it’s quite the opposite so I let her ramble on. 

I always blamed my skin for our pathetic sex life, but Bobby assured me time and time again he wasn’t really having a problem with it. I figured he was just saying it because… well, he’s supposed to say that. The thing is, ever since I’ve been touchable, nothing’s changed. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe my skin isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s *me*. 

Ever since I touched Prissy – thank God, she’s fine – I know how to control my skin. When I realized I wasn’t wearing my gloves, I suddenly felt it flip on again, and *that* was all I needed. I suddenly just *knew* how to do it. I could grasp it, turn it off at will, because I *knew* I could. You’d think Bobby would’ve been excited – he always believed I’d be able to turn it off, but when I told him, he merely smiled, congratulated me, and kissed me on top of my head. Not my mouth. 

We went out to dinner that night to celebrate, and I really thought we’d be making love without protective clothes and scarves that night. I was a bit giddy. Excited. I felt so different. Sexy. Touchable. And when I got home I’d put on my sexiest negligee and waited for him to come to bed, thrilled and a bit anxious, almost like it was my *real* first time. 

I expected us to kiss, to taste, to explore. I didn’t know whether to giggle or jump my husband and make him fuck me senseless, but when Bobby entered the bedroom, he went straight for his own bed, yawned, told me goodnight and went to sleep. He just… went to sleep. He even skipped our usual goodnight cuddle. 

So it *has* to be me. Am I incapable of arousing my husband? 

We’ve had sex five times since I woke up from my Carol-coma. Once since I’ve been touchable. I’d been pissed off and hurt about his rejection all this time, so last week I decided to be blunt and told him I wanted to have sex. We always had to plan it before, and I hoped maybe he still thought that was the case. Old habits and all. 

We didn’t dress up for it, but other then that, it was still without passion, without kisses, without… what? Feeling? Without love? Lust? There has to be something wrong with me. It’s either that or my husband’s… gay?

Logan once joked Bobby was gay because we weren’t at the groping stage after months of being together. Is that possible? It sure would explain a lot. My husband’s lack of enthusiasm when it comes to sex, his choked-up silence, the way he almost desperately wants to live a ‘normal’ life. Wants to *pretend* we’re normal, white picket fence and all. 

Now that I think of it, I’ve never even caught him flirting with another woman either. Then again, we hardly go out together. What do I know? 

Ugh. I’m probably way ahead of things. My husband isn’t gay. He likes women. It’s *me* he doesn’t like. But why? And why is he still *with* me then?

Tired of all the questions, I turn off the computer and turn around. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

Bobby turns his head but his eyes stay glued to the TV. “Huh?”

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?” I repeat the question.

Now he frowns and meets my eyes. “What’s this?”

“A question. Something that’s been bothering me for a long time.”

He blinks. “I don’t know. First… first we couldn’t, and now… I don’t miss it. You?”

“Yeah. Always did.”

“Oh.” He looks surprised. “Oh, well. We could… you know, try.”

Staring at the man I always considered boy-band-handsome, I wonder what it was that made me fall for him. His composed calm? I always thought that one of Bobby’s best qualities is this stability. The way his emotions are so even. I’ve never even seen him cry in all those years we’ve been together. He’s so responsible. And loyal. Reliable. 

I also liked the way he listens to my rants without trying to come up with an answer or a solution to my problems. I always figured he’d read Jubes’ Cosmopolitans and remembered to stay quiet. Women want to talk about problems in order to get our heads straight, not because we want help. I thought Bobby knew, but now I think he never responded to my blabbering because he simply didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. 

“Do you still love me?” I ask, because suddenly I’m not so sure if I still love him. 

Sensing my weird mood, he puts away the remote control and sits up straight. “Of course. You know I do. What’s going on?”

Sighing, I slump in my seat. “I don’t know. I feel… restless. I think… I think I want to see my parents.”

Poor guy. He’s lost me for a moment, but then he frowns. “What? Now?”

“Yeah. Well, soon.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I just do. I feel like it. I’m… ready. Or something. I can touch. I want them to know.”

Actually, I suddenly have the evil urge to rub it in now that I still seem to have everything. I want to them to be sorry for letting me go. For not trying harder to help me. 

I want them to be sorry for throwing me away.

* * *

August. 

It took us a couple of days to get to Meridian, Mississippi. We made it some sort of a holiday. Some quality time together, and I silently decided to use this break to see if there was something left of us. If there was something worth fighting for. See if I could save our marriage somehow, but the closer we got to Meridian, the more Bobby withdrew. It was like he knew we were heading towards the end and he was trying to disappear before we could actually quit. 

All emotions made my stomach hurt, my head ache, and my heart bleed. I needed him. I was nervous, and I wanted him to tell me everything was going to be fine. He, of all people, should have known what it was like to face parents after a rejection. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t more supportive.

When we walked into the street I lived for sixteen years, I noticed everything was still the same. Disturbingly the same. Time had been standing still in this part of the world. It was like I’d never left. I wasn’t twenty-four and married. I never ran away. The war didn’t happen, and I wasn’t a mutant. I was back in time. 

When we approached my house, I noticed my mother working in the garden, sitting on her knees near a flowerbed. She glanced up, saw us, and showed one of those warm-yet-guarded smiles you cast to strangers. She wanted to return to her task, but then she stiffened and looked up again, her dirt-covered hands hanging mid-air. 

Giving myself no chance to turn and leave, I said, “Hello, momma.” 

Bobby remained silent. 

My mother gaped at me. Her eyes darted from me to Bobby and back to me again, and then she asked, “Marie?”

“Yes,” I calmly confirmed her disbelief, and then I gestured to Bobby, who was standing next to me like a statue. “This is Bob--my husband. Robert Drake.”

I always wanted to say that. I always wanted to introduce a husband to her, but when I finally did, I wasn’t feeling anything. No pleasure, no satisfaction, no fulfilment, no closing. In fact, I felt like I was sixteen all over again, and I wanted someone to hold me. Someone who’d make me feel good about myself. Someone who’d make *her* feel like a bad parent. Someone like Logan. 

It went downhill from there, but I don’t think my mother noticed anything. My father wasn’t home, which I should’ve known because it was Wednesday afternoon and he works office hours. She invited us in and treated me like a stranger. She talked in her annoying fake upper-class accent - something I always hated even when I was just a kid. She offered us lemonade. Bobby was polite. I was numb and reserved. It was just all too weird.

I didn’t really feel anything except a certain amount of disdain. I didn’t even care about showing off my success anymore. It didn’t really matter. I could’ve been anybody. My mother didn’t have a daughter anymore. I was a stranger. Someone she didn’t know. Someone she didn’t feel comfortable with and didn’t *want* to know either. 

At that moment I so longed for Logan’s strong, protective presence by my side, and then Emma’s words popped up. ‘Who would want *him* as a son-in-law? An old, leather-wearing, cigar-smoking, beer-drinking, cage-fighting, Harley-driving mutant with a killer instinct to boot. He doesn’t exactly fit the perfect picture, does he?’

In all those years, I never pictured Logan sitting there with me. I knew Logan would never be approved by my parents, but when I sat there, all alone even though Bobby was right next to me, I missed him like I’d never missed him before. 

He would’ve put his arm around me. He would’ve glared at my mother. He would’ve been proud of me. He would’ve given me the strength I lacked. Bobby only looked like he wanted to shrink into his expensive suit and get out of there. 

“So,” my mother said after an awkward silence, looking at my hair. “Is that a part of--?”

She didn’t finish her question. Still doing the ‘as long as we don’t talk about it, it isn’t there’ politics. 

“Of my mutation?” I ploughed on, derisively. “No. It’s… a scar.”

Bobby glanced sideways, and my mother looked puzzled. I ignored them both. 

Instead, I revealed emotionlessly, “I can touch again. Control my skin.”

In my fantasy my parents always apologised for their behaviour after that. I would look down on them and tell them I didn’t need them anymore, and then I’d leave, taking my handsome husband with me and never looking back.

“Oh,” my mother said, glancing at my bare hands. “That’s… nice.”

And then I knew for sure I’d been holding onto an illusion all those years. Such a silly, little girl’s revenge. 

It was awful. I felt sick to my stomach, staring at my mother, sipping at my lemonade, and for a moment I was scared I’d actually throw up right there and then. Luckily I managed to force it down, stand up, and plaster a smile on my face. Bobby stood up as well, and so did my mother. I muttered something about the time and that we had to go, and my mother hurried to let us out, probably relieved to see us leave. It was all very awkward, odd, and strangely surreal. 

The entire way to our hotel Bobby kept silent, his impassiveness confirming my suspicions that we were through. He didn’t even try to comfort me. He had to know I was upset, but he didn’t even ask if I was okay. I kept thinking Logan would’ve made me talk. So would Remy. Both men would’ve wanted me to explain my thoughts, to dig into myself. They would’ve encouraged me to tell my fears and pain, to investigate them. They would’ve made me feel better eventually. Logan with just a few carefully chosen words, Remy with all his charm. 

And now, looking at my husband, who’s watching TV on the hotel bed, I feel my inner rebel trying to break free. I cross my arms in front of my chest and gather the courage to finally speak those words which seem to have been stuck in my throat for a lifetime. 

“Bobby, we need to talk.”


	40. Chapter 40

“You’re leaving me.”

Bobby looks at me like he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, expecting major punishment. I can already feel the spark of annoyance in the pit of my stomach, so I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to scare him away this time. I want him to know he can tell me anything. Anything at all. Like… like that he’s gay. Or having an affair. Or both. 

“I think… I think you can only leave someone if that person is actually *there*. I feel like you left me first. A long time ago. Maybe… maybe I never even had you at all. You always felt… out of reach.” 

“What are you talking about?” he huffs. “I was here all along.”

I try not to snap, but it’s quite an effort to remain calm. “Bobby, please. This has been a very emotional day for me. I’m not in the mood for dodging the bullet. There is something wrong with us. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, too.”

“A lot has happened. You’ve been under a lot of stress. It’s only normal we’re trying to get back to our normal life,” my husband patiently tries to reason with me. “Maybe you should take a bath, relax and go to bed early. You want something? I’m heading for the lobby.”

He stands up, ready to flee, but I stand up as well and jump in front of the door. 

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna sit your ass down, and you’re gonna *talk*.”

Now he has the guts to be annoyed. “About what?”

“About us. About why you never tell me that you love me. I *know* you care. You make a bath when I’m tired. You bring me candy when I don’t feel well. Those things… you care, but it’s like, there’s no husband and wife stuff involved. You hold me almost every night until I fall asleep, but then you step into your own bed and I’m alone again. There isn’t any passion. Sometimes I feel like… I feel like I married my roommate. Or my dad.”

I frown when I hear my own words. That’s pretty… icky. Logan used to fulfill that father role once. In the beginning of our relationship. How come Bobby took over that part? Am I making men feel like I need a protector? 

Bobby opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up my hand. “Hang on. Let me say this first. It’s been bothering me for so long. I just… I want you to know what I’m thinking. Okay?”

He sinks down on the bed again, not totally at ease, but understandingly. “Okay.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and continue, “You always said that my skin wasn’t a problem. I never quite believed that. I thought you were saying that to make me feel better. You see, you hardly ever touch me unless I touch you first.”

“I never knew this was a contest,” he says, and again I try to remain calm. Rational.

“It’s not, but it hurts that you never reach out to me. I feel… rejected, and I’ve been blaming my skin all this time, but at the same time it still frustrates me. I could handle it all those years because I reminded myself that *I* was the problem. I had to be grateful that you even wanted to go through the fuss at all. But now… I’ve been touchable for months. Nothing has changed. You still don’t touch me. You still don’t kiss me. If it really isn’t my skin, I’d like to know what’s going on. It doesn’t matter if it’s silly. Or weird. Or… painful, maybe. You can tell me. Really. I promise I don’t freak out, and maybe… maybe we can fix it. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to continue like this. I don’t want to pretend everything is fine anymore. Because we’re not.” 

For a few moments we stare at each other in silence, but then he looks down and does something I’ve never seen him do before. He starts crying. Uncontrollably. Shaking shoulders, howls, running nose and all. I’m so surprised, I just stand there and watch him sob. 

I don’t feel anything, except exhaustion maybe. I don’t feel bad for my upset husband. In fact, I think he looks quite pathetic. I’m a bit ashamed of those thoughts. I should comfort him, but I don’t think I have anything left to give anymore. Not today, after this emotional rollercoaster. 

It takes him forever to calm down - or maybe that’s because my patience is shot to pieces, but finally, he’s able to breathe normally again. 

“Okay,” he gives in, almost irritated. “I’ve always known this moment would come. I just never expected it to be here this soon. Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Join the club,” I mutter, taken aback that he finally caves, and surprised there apparently *is* something going on. Something important. Something big, it seems. Is it--? Can it be that he’s--?

He takes a deep breath and swallows hard. “I’ve told you so many times that your skin doesn’t matter, and it’s the truth. Your skin hasn’t been the problem. It’s… you.”

He looks up to check my reaction, but I’ve been waiting for the ‘I’m-sorry-but-I’m-gay-revelation, and so when it’s clear that he wants me to respond, I take the safest option. 

“Me?”

He nods. “Yes. You. You see, I never fell in love with you.”

Again he breaks down and bawls his eyes out, and again all I can do is stare. 

He never fell in love with me? Okay. Okay, so he *is* gay. It’s… an explanation. It’s understandable. He didn’t want to hurt his parents anymore. Being a mutant *and* gay is probably a bit too much. I get it. Really. I’m… quite relieved now. I won’t be the bad guy if we file for divorce now. It’s the perfect excuse to quit this marriage and start a new life. It’s a good thing. A way out. 

Before I can tell him, he continues, "I never fell in love with you, but I *do* love you. I really do.”

“It’s okay,” I try to soothe him. “I know you do. I’m not upset. Well, I am, but I understand. I know what it’s like to try and be someone you’re not, just to please parents.”

“Parents?” he asks, quite puzzled by my words. “I didn’t want to disappoint the Professor.”

Huh? The professor? What’s *he* got the do with all this? I didn’t take *him* for a homophobe. In fact, I always thought his relationship with Erik--

Bobby casts me a bit of an apprehensive look, and clarifies, “You see, you were my first mission.”

“Wait… what? Hang on,” I say, holding up my hand, and trying to order my thoughts. “I’m… I don’t… what? A mission? I was a *mission*?”

“Yes.” My husband stands up and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “I don’t like telling you this, and I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to, but I don’t have anything to lose anymore. Well, maybe my balls if I leave it up to Logan.” 

I sit up straight. “Okay. I’m confused now. Charles *and* Logan? I thought… I thought you were--? But you’re… not?”

I get a quizzical look. “I’m not what?”

Can I be wrong? Oh, God. This is getting really embarrassing. 

“Nothing. Never mind. I’m… wrong. Maybe. So… you never fell in love with me. And I was a mission. What mission?”

Tiredly smiling, Bobby answers, “It’s… complicated. Let’s start at the beginning, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree, and I brace myself for whatever comes next. 

“The beginning - your first day at the Mansion. The professor wanted to see me before Physics class. I thought he was going to tell me not to freeze John’s lighter anymore, but instead, he told me two new mutants had arrived, one with extreme potential danger. He explained he wanted them to stay, and he said one of them was a girl my age. He suggested I should make her feel welcome. Be nice. Give her a little attention.”

“He what?” I interrupt him. “He… he ordered you to flirt with me?”

Bobby shrugs and sits down again. “I don’t know. Well, not exactly. He sort of implied it. I think. Or at least, that’s how I took it.”

Gaping at my husband, I ask, “You’re kidding me, right? The ice rose? Lunch? Dinner? That was all part of a *plan*?”

Bobby has the decency to cringe. “It sounds awful, but… yeah. I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“I can’t believe this,” I mumble, standing up and pacing through the room. “A mission? A goddamn mission?! But why?” I turn around to face him. “Why me? Why not try to convince Logan? He’s the dangerous one.”

Bobby casts me an apologetic smile. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Looking me straight in the eyes, he states, “Rogue, the Professor was talking about *you*. Not Logan. You. I had it wrong at first as well, but *you* are the one the Professor wanted to stay. Logan was just a bonus for the X-Men, but *you* were his target all along.”

Sinking back into my chair, I mutter, “I think I could use a drink now.”

He opens the mini bar and hands me a little bottle. I don’t even look at what it is. I just slam it down. 

Bobby rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, you have to understand, I was barely eighteen. I wanted to be an X-Man. I was proud I had a mission, and I didn’t want to let the Professor down. During the entire physics class I was excited about it, wondering who the two new mutants were, and then, at the end, I met one. Logan. He came bursting into the Professor’s office, hostile and angry. I remember trying to keep my cool, but secretly I was glad I only had to deal with you.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay, hang on again. Just… let me get this straight. You had orders to win me over. Charles probably considered me risky and he wanted me to stay. I get that. It’s… wrong, and manipulative, but I get it. What I don’t get is, why did you keep it up? Why didn’t you just flirt a little and quit it once I decided to stay?”

Which was right after he gave me the rose. God, I’m such a sucker. I fell for his smooth welcome pretty much straight away. 

“Yeah, good question,” Bobby agrees pensively. “That’s… that’s a combination of things, I guess. Like I said, I was barely eighteen back then, and you were a pretty girl. I know you told me about your mutation over dinner, but I thought it wouldn’t be that bad. I realized my mistake when Logan stabbed you that night. When you took him down with just a touch. It suddenly dawned on me that the Professor had meant *you* as the dangerous one, but still, I thought you’d control it sometime soon.”

I snort. “That’s what I thought as well.”

“Yeah. I thought… I thought it was just a matter of time. John was messing around with Jubes. Pete had Kitty, and all this time I had no one. I wanted to know what it was like to have a relationship. To have sex. I figured I could wait a while, and you seemed eager enough, so--.”

He stops and carefully glances up again to see my reaction, but I’m so shocked I can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Eager enough? I was *eager* enough? Like, as in easy? As in slutty? Like… what the *fuck*?

Finally, after several attempts to open my mouth, I realize it’s better to let him talk. I want answers. If I kill him now, I’ll never know the whole story, so I urge him like a priest to a man confessing his sins. 

“Go on.” 

“Okay.” He sounds relieved, and now he’s the one who starts pacing. He’s almost energetic. Excited. Relieved to get it out. “I wanted to sleep with you. Don’t forget I was a hormonal teen. I know it’s not an excuse, but… well, it’s the truth. But instead of being easy, you were kinda old-fashioned instead. You didn’t want to have sex until you were sure about your feelings. Until you were sure about *my* feelings. And I also came to realize that you and Logan had this…. this *thing* going on. A connection. Or a deep friendship. Something. I saw how he looked at you sometimes. I didn’t really understand it, but I felt jealous.”

He stops and frowns. “All the girls always saw me as a friend. I had a crush on Kitty back then, but she chose Pete. Then I thought I might try my luck with Jubes, but she always thought I was being brotherly. She went for John. So… there you were.”

Is he serious? Who the fuck is this guy? Do I know him? Is it Mystique? She has impersonated him once already. This Bobby looks a fucking lot like Mystique-Bobby. And what about Kitty? A crush on Kitty? 

“You had a *crush*on Kitty?” I ask, incredulously. “I was always jealous of you and Jubes! You were always touching and teasing and… and well, *touching*!”

He chuckles like it’s a bad joke. “It’s always easier to tease the one you don’t have feelings for.”

I’ll be damned. Kitty. Sweet Kitty. The object of my husband’s crush.

Not aware of my amazement, Bobby keeps confessing. “But then everything went to hell. Stryker’s men, Logan on a killing spree but saving my ass, my parents, and of course Ronny. John suddenly joined Magneto, Dr. Grey died… it was all so fucked up. I was scared and confused, but you were there for me. You tried to comfort me, tried to make me feel better, and I… I was grateful. I realized you were such a wonderful person. I think I sort of started loving you then.”

He sits down on the desk, waiting for my reaction, but I have no clue what to say, how to react, where to even start. I feel so much, so many emotions and thoughts flowing through me, they all sorta collide into one pool of… nothing?

When the silence becomes too much, Bobby asks, “Are you okay?”

I don’t know. With each revelation I get a piece of the puzzle, but at the same time it feels like the more the puzzle gets complete, the more *I* am being torn apart. Is that good? I don’t think so, but I don’t want him to stop. 

“Yeah,” I croak. “Yeah, I’m fine. So you thought… you thought you loved me. Is that why you gave me the ring for my birthday?”

“Yes and no. I got carried away a bit. I thought maybe you’d agree to sleep with me. I knew by then your skin wasn’t to be controlled any time soon, and the kiss at my parents’ house was quite an eye-opener, but I was *close*, you know? And I thought… I *really* cared for you, and I thought that we could have a normal life. I wanted to show my parents that *I* could be normal.”

He takes a deep breath, laughs ironically, and shakes his head. “I wanted to prove that being a mutant wasn’t a problem. That I was still the same. I had to convince them nothing had changed, and so suddenly I had to adjust my plans. I couldn’t be an X-Man anymore. My new goal was to get a normal job, live in a normal house. Things like that.”

Suddenly he ponderingly stares at me. “Did you tell Logan about our first time?”

Did I? I don’t think I know how to form a coherent thought anymore. 

“I don’t know,” I answer mechanically. “I… uh… yeah. Yeah, I did. I think. Not… not exactly like that, but he figured it out anyway. I was upset, and he noticed. I was upset because you hurt me. The second time, I mean. The morning after. You were quite rude.”

Bobby nods tiredly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I was angry. And disappointed. About my parents, the situation, going through the fuss of protection – everything. I took it out on you.” He sighs again. “Logan sought me out that afternoon. Said that if I ever hurt you again he’d cut off… certain body parts. It wasn’t a joke. He meant it. I saw that same insane glint in his eyes like the time he killed the soldier in the kitchen. Skewered the guy against the fridge. I almost pissed my pants. On both occasions. Actually, I did a bit, when the claws were pointed in *my* direction. I never thought they’d be warm.”

This is getting better and better. Or maybe more insane? Logan threatening Bobby? So he really knew my bullshit story was bullshit? But he seemed so calm. And he… he never said anything. And neither did Bobby. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice strangely high, and Bobby grunts. 

“He told me not to. He can be very convincing. He said you loved me, and I figured I could never break up with you because that would mean hurting you just the same. I just… I couldn’t get out of it anymore. Both my conscience and Logan’s threat made sure of that. I resented you for a couple of days, but I had to keep it up, and… well, I *did* care about you. You were my girl, you know?” 

I suddenly remember a few things. Bobby was acting funny right after our first time. He was upset because he thought I’d been telling people. And I also remember the time I went to the Drake’s and Logan dropped me off. He’d hinted to Bobby about a talk back then. I should’ve known, but he didn’t *seem* angry when we talked in the garage. He was so… composed. I really thought he was buying my crap. 

Bobby goes on, looking more and more relieved. Almost chipper. “I went to live with my parents again, and things just kept happening. The war, my dad got sick – you know. I just wanted a peaceful life. I kept wishing for things to be nice and quiet, and before I even knew it years had passed.” 

He hesitates, meeting my eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

Am I? Do I have the right? I’ve done exactly the same. He used me to prove his parents he could be normal, just like I did. He didn’t want to break up and hurt me, just like I thought I’d hurt *him* if I’d left. We both went for second best because our first choice wasn’t available. My God, how ironic can life be? Is this some fucked-up Karma thing? And it was all triggered by Charles. By a fucking *mission*, because I’m potentially *dangerous*.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” I tell him flatly, and it’s the truth. “I’m… I’m mad at the situation. At myself, for ignoring all my doubts all those years. I’m mad at Charles, for manipulating us into this. Maybe even at Logan, although I doubt he deliberately tried to keep us together. He probably thought he was doing me a favor. He didn’t know all this was nothing but a lie.”

Bobby protests. “Hey, not all of it was fake. I *do* care. And we don’t have to quit. Marriage is an agreement. The best ones are based on stability, on friendship. Passionate marriages never last long, you know that. We’re best friends. We look out for each other. Isn’t that enough? I knew what I was getting into when I said ‘I do.’ I *wanted* to marry you. We fit.”

I can’t hold back a bark of cynical laughter. “No, Bobby. We *adjusted*. We wanted all this badly enough to change into someone else. *Those* people fit, not us. Not the *real* us.”

“What are you saying? I know you wanted to move to Boston. You wanted the house, the normal life. You wanted it, just like me. ”

Shaking my head, I say, “I *thought* I wanted it, and I *thought* I loved you. We both have been trying too hard. We both fooled ourselves *and* each other. We should have quit the moment we were back on our feet after Alkali Lake, but God, we’ve been so stupid.”

Now he’s the one who’s shocked. “You *thought* you loved me?”

Oh, joy. It’s my turn now. 

“Yeah. I needed you. I needed you for a lot of reasons. I didn’t fully understand it all until today. I… I can’t be mad at you because I’ve done exactly the same. I used you just like you used me. I wanted a normal life, just like you. For a while, at least. I used you to fill up my pain and fears, but I never truly *felt* you. The real you. Here.” I put my hand on my heart. “I could never reach you, just like you never reached me.”

“But now that we know, can’t we just go on like this? I don’t need passion. I just want a nice, quiet life and some company.”

I’m suddenly aware that I’m crying, but I don’t care. “I’m not your pet, Bobby. I’m your *wife*. I need love and I need attention, and I also need passion. I need to be special. I don’t want to be a mission. I don’t want to be just a friend, and I sure don’t want to be second best. I want the whole shebang. That special something that makes us *us*.”

My husband stares at me blankly. “But what if you can’t? What if you end up alone?”

Remy always tells me I’m strong. That I don’t need anything but my common sense. That I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, especially now that I have Carol’s powers. He also said I took a few of her traits, but that can’t be possible. Charles assured me he’d removed her completely. Then again, after knowing what Bobby just told me, I don’t think I trust Charles anymore. The manipulative bastard. I’m *so* gonna have a talk with him.

Shoving all bitter thoughts aside, I give an indifferent shrug. “Well, c’est la vie. I don’t need anyone to take care of me any more. I can take care of myself just fine. It’s about goddamn time I do.”

“So… now what?”

“So… now we call Warren,” I say pragmatically. “And we make a list of our possessions. You can keep the house, of course. It’s yours. I want my clothes. And the bike. And Carol’s inheritance is mine, too.”

“But… but where are you going to live? What are you going to do?”

Chewing on my lip, I see a world of possibilities in front of me. 

“I don’t know. I’m going to have a talk with Charles. That’s for sure. And maybe… maybe I’m going to Anchorage. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

Bobby makes a face. “Anchorage? What the hell is in Anchorage?”

“A dream.” I shrug. “A childhood dream.”

“You’re throwing all this - our marriage, your house, your job – you’re throwing it all away to chase a childhood dream? Come on, Rogue. That’s stupid. Just like wanting real love. What *is* real love? What’s more real than someone who cares? Someone who’s your friend and willing to spend his life with you? What you’re looking for doesn’t exist. It’s a fairytale. Don’t you get it?”

“Oh, it exists, alright,” I tell him grimly. “I’ve felt it once, but I didn’t recognize it until it was too late.”

When Logan and I went back to the Statue of Liberty. That one moment, that connection. That’s what I want. I’ve got a taste of real love. Everything else is two-dimensional compared to that soul-deep feeling.

“With Logan,” Bobby says, suddenly tired. Defeated. It’s a fact, not a question, but I confirm it anyway. 

“Yeah.”

Bobby glares at me. “Of course. Him. It was always him.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. He’s right, so I back up in my rhetorical corner and keep silent. 

When I don’t answer, he sulks, “Now what? Are you gonna chase a fairytale now?”

Meeting his eyes and holding them, I suddenly feel confident that everything I’ll do from now on will turn out okay. I really *can* do this all by myself. I really *am* strong enough. I don’t need anyone to take care of me, fight my fights, and comfort me anymore. All I need is *me*.

“No,” I tell him, and I notice a hint of excitement in my voice. “I’m going to quit the lies.”


	41. Chapter 41

I’m going to quit the lies. 

Easier said than done, because where do I start when my whole life turns out to be fake? How do I deal with betrayal when I am the one who betrayed myself? Where do I hide and lick my wounds when every home I ever considered safe is nothing but a foundation of deceit?

These last few days I’ve been keeping myself busy, just to avoid facing my horrible mistakes, but I can’t go on like this. After the talk, Bobby and I decided to drive straight home. We’ve talked some more because I wanted to know details. His feelings about certain aspect of our relationship. I wanted to know his thoughts about our lack of a sex life. If he ever experienced lust. I wanted to know if he ever saw me as a woman instead of a threat. I wanted to know if I’d ever excited him. I’m not sure why. Sick curiosity, maybe?

I pressed on and on. He didn’t want to tell me at first. When I said I couldn’t possibly be more hurt, he revealed his true feelings. He’s said things I don’t even want to repeat in my head, but I just can’t seem to shut them out. They’re echoing inside my hollow core, and they’ve stripped me from any form of dignity. He didn’t say them to hurt me, but I almost wish he did. I’m sure that would’ve sparked an anger that would’ve protected me from the blow. Now I wasn’t prepared, and the god-honest truth turns out to be a lethal weapon. 

So, my I-don’t-need-anyone-but-me euphoria lasted not even a day. Reality hit me with a sledgehammer, and it left me humiliated to the bone. I felt my skin flip back on again, and I couldn’t reach the switch. It was like there had never been one. It makes sense, I guess. My skin is the only defense I have left, and I don’t even care that I’m isolated once again. It won’t change a goddamn thing. No one wants to touch me anyway, and I’ll always be a risk. In a twisted way I enjoy my protection. It’s my cocoon of safety, providing shelter to devastated mortification personified. 

My life has been a lie. I’m not a person. I’m a classified file in a safe. I started out as a mission, changed into a potential fuck, turned into a disappointment, and ended up a charity case. I’m nothing but a potential danger, a hazard to be controlled, and I let them voluntarily cage and comfort me. I just let it happen. Didn’t struggle. Didn’t fight. Just… went along. And all this time, Logan knew. He confronted me once, one of our last fights. He’d asked, ‘Where’s the river rat who snuck into my trailer?’ and I told him I just wanted to be normal, white picket fence and all. 

Thinking about all this makes me so embarrassed, I can’t look at myself in the mirror without cringing. I can’t stand the sight of me, the thought of me, the *feel* of me. I’ve been so stupid. I want to be angry, I want to hold someone responsible for the situation I’m in now, but there is no one to blame but me. How do I cope with that? 

I called Warren and explained that Bobby and I wanted a divorce. Warren was surprised, but professional. I’ve asked him to keep it quiet until I announce it myself, and he promised to do so. We’re going to discuss the details tomorrow, during a long, extended lunch. I hope I can keep my cool and don’t get all personal. He’s still my employer, after all. 

Bobby and I have been talking about what to tell his family and our friends. It’s such a strange situation we’re in. We’re not sure anyone would understand. We decided to make up some story about waking up one day and realizing we were more brother and sister than lovers. Which, in a way, is true. No one knows we’ve never really been lovers in the first place, so we’re not bothering to explain that part. 

I’ve moved to our spare bedroom. We started our temporary new life as housemates. No big deal, I thought. It wasn’t like our life was changing *that* radically. We more or less lived as housemates for years. I didn’t think there would be a problem, but I was wrong. 

It’s getting more difficult to face myself and this situation I’m in after each sleepless night. Of course, Bobby’s doing fine. He’s actually happy. He’s back to his uncomplicated self again. He’s back to the nice boy I knew from way back when in just a matter of days, but I’m falling into a black hole of bitterness and regret. How come he doesn’t have trouble accepting that we’ve lost so many years? How come he can move on so easily? How come I can’t?

Remy has offered me a room at his place for the time being, but I turned him down. It wouldn’t look so good if I lived with another man while I’m in the middle of a divorce, but the idea is getting more appealing every day. I honestly don’t think I can deal with Bobby’s cheerfulness any longer while I’m feeling so goddamn miserable myself. I don’t want to pretend I’m strong and that everything is going fine considering the circumstances. I’m not fine at all. And I’m definitely not strong. I’m confused. And lonely. And scared. And so fucking *angry* at myself.

All this time I’ve been blaming my skin while it’s been *me*. Bobby’s words destroyed all my confidence in just one night. I’ll never be more than my mutation. Even among other mutants. I’m a threat. Dangerous. A weapon. 

It makes me wonder, who was my friend and who knew about Charles’ plans? Bobby doesn’t have any answers. He thinks he was the only one in his little mission, but he can’t tell for sure. Maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I have to know. I want to talk to Charles soon. I have to become a bit more stable first tough. I have to regroup. Accept all the parts I didn’t want to see. Accept my stupidity. My fears. My pain. Become whole again. But where to start?

Did I leave myself when I ran away from home? I don’t think so. Logan knew the *real* me. He knew the adventurous girl who wanted to see Anchorage. That’s *me*, so I must’ve lost myself somewhere between meeting him and moving to Boston. I chose Logan to steal a ride from in Laughlin City, and that was a gut-choice. A good one. Probably the last sensible thing I did. I think I must’ve lost track after that. Started to drift a little, overwhelmed by the almost surreal world of superheroes and villains. 

Now that I’m giving it a good thought, I’m pretty sure I lost all sense of direction the night Logan and I went out for the first time. When I told him that I wanted to break up with Bobby. I let him talk me out of it. Or rather, he told me to follow my gut and I ignored his advice. I *knew* something was wrong, but just because Logan wasn’t jumping with joy I ignored my doubts. That was a huge mistake. I lost my compass right *there*.

So now what? I can’t start the accepting process while I’m confronted with my foolishness every day. While I want to run instead of safely allowing all the pain to surface. I need a place where I don’t feel the need to pretend. A place where I can cry and scream and just be on my own for a while.

What about… Logan’s cabin?

He said I could use it if I needed a break, right? That horrible night at the lake, he said I had to tell Charles so he could contact him. I don’t really feel like talking to Charles right now, but I *do* like the idea of living a solitary life way up high on a mountaintop. I don’t have to be afraid of hurting people with my skin. I don’t have to act civil and toe the line. That’s probably why Logan likes it as well. 

So… should I call him? Wouldn’t that be weird? We haven’t spoken to each other in over four years, and now I’m gonna call to ask him a favor. That’s wrong, somehow. But he did say that I could use the cabin, and he also said that he wasn’t saying goodbye, which means that technically we’re still friends. 

Crap. Damn indecisiveness. What should I do? 

I know I was important to him once. He did love me, and all I did was hurt him in return. How could I have been so blind to his pain? I was so focused on my own problems, I never considered *his* feelings. There are times when I wonder if I’m not imagining things, because… well, it was Logan. He always seemed so unreachable. So out of my league. How could he love someone like me? Someone so young, and silly, and clumsy, and weird? And when did our relationship change exactly? Was it just something that happened over time?

I’ve never been sexy, or brave, or intelligent. I’m not gracefully exciting, or mysteriously challenging. The best I could do was make him laugh, and not even because I was so damn funny, but because I did or said something stupid. So, what caused him to open up to me? How did I manage to crawl through his defense system and how badly damaged did I leave him again? Do I even have the right to call? To force my way back into his life just because I need something from him again?

I tried so hard to make him see he could trust me, and yet, I’m the one who proved to him that he’s better off alone because he’ll only get hurt once he starts caring. I can’t stand the thought. I wish I could tell him how sorry I am. How much I hate myself for hurting him. I never knew I had that power. How could I? I thought *I* was always the vulnerable one. How foolish of me. How *naive*. 

It’s probably a little too late to tell him I’ve been a dumbass. It took me four fucking *years* to see the light, and I’m pretty sure he’s moved on by now. I won’t blame him if he tells me to fuck off, but if he still feels something, if there’s a tiny spark of our friendship left, he might want to help me. The cabin is the only place I can get my act together. It’s worth a shot.

Okay. I’m going to call him. I have to be careful not to say too much, because I don’t want him to feel obligated to pick me up again. No damsel-in-distress dependence. No in-desperate-need-for-a-hero expectations. Just a reminder that he said I could use the place, and an apology for calling him without contacting Charles first. 

Okay. Where’s my phone? 

Deep breath. Relax. A sip of water first. And maybe a visit to the toilet. 

I do my business and then pick up the phone with trembling hands. I have to quit procrastinating because otherwise I’ll chicken out completely. If I’m going to call, I have to do it now.

I swallow hard and almost forget how to breathe, but I force myself to dial Logan’s number anyway. 

And then I wait.

And wait.

And wait some more, but then there is a connection and I freeze. An instant headache clouds my mind, and I remind myself that I can still quit and pretend--.

There is a click, followed by a lot of cheering and shouting. Above all noise, Logan barks, obviously irritated, “What?”

I know his voice so well, but hearing it again is quite a shock. I have to swallow down some abrupt hysterical laughter, and force myself to say something. Anything. 

“Uh, hi.” I have to smother another fit of giggles. “It’s me. Anna. I mean… Rogue. You know… Marie.”

Oh, great. I’m so fucked up I don’t even know my name anymore. This is all too bizarre. He’s suddenly so close. So real. He actually exists. Not that I thought he didn’t, but with my entire world so fake and disconnected all of a sudden, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be some product of my overactive imagination. 

I’m so busy focusing on my own internal universe, it takes a while to notice that, except for the regular bar noises, it stays quiet on the other side of the line.

Crap. Did I manage to shock him, or is he trying to remember who the hell this Marie-girl is?

“Logan?” I ask, after controlling another nervous burst of giggles. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Another silence, but before I can tell him that I’m sorry for calling him like that, he finally answers, “Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll… uh… can I--?”

He interrupts my stammer. “You okay?”

God, I’ve missed that. Those words. That tone. Such a simple expression of concern, but it’s the closest to feeling protected I’ve felt in a very long time. 

“Yeah,” I hastily assure him, praying he won’t hear the strangled emotions. “Fine. I’m… fine. Never mind. I didn’t mean… never mind. Sorry. Can I call you back?”

“Hang on.”

I hear some rustling going on, and the crowd is making one hell of a noise. After a few seconds, he’s back again. 

“Thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” I agree, secretly glad I can end this weird conversation. “Bye.”

The connection is dead already.

* * *

The next half an hour I visit the bathroom at least five times. I’m pacing through the guest room, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. I do both, randomly. I’m so torn between an enormous amount of grief and excited cheerfulness, I’m barely capable of forming a rational thought. 

Was he upset about my phone call? He seemed to be, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he was just surprised and a bit annoyed. Are the thirty minutes an excuse to prepare for the next call, or was he really too busy to talk? It feels like time is moving way too fast and much too slow at the same time. I’m extremely nervous to call again, and yet, I can hardly wait. 

Finally, after almost packing my stuff twice to simply run and disappear, I tell myself to stop shaking and make the damn call again. I’ve already added three extra minutes to fake casualness. It’s now or never. 

I dial his number, and this time he picks up almost immediately. 

“Yeah.”

I don’t hear background noises anymore, and I have to confess I’m a bit surprised that he answers at all. A part of me thought he’d ignore me, but I guess he’s sought a quiet place. 

“Hey,” I say, my voice trembling and weird. “It’s me again. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you--.”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, sounding calm but guarded. “Something wrong?”

Right. This is Logan. Forget small talk and bullshitting around. Let’s get right to the point. 

I take a gulp of air and stutter nervously, “No. No, not really. I just… you said, that night at the boat house, you said I could use your cabin if I needed it. Well, I need it now. I know you said I had to contact Charles first, but I really don’t want to talk to him right now, and I… uh… I want to know if the offer still stands. You know. To use it for a while.”

I can feel my cheeks turning red, and I close my eyes in embarrassment. God! Why do I always sound so horribly *stupid* when I’m nervous? I’m almost twenty-five. I *still* sound like a ten-year-old.

But apparently I’ve made some sense after all, because after a moment of almost deafening silence, Logan simply says, “Yeah.”

“Oh.” I have no clue what to say anymore, so I do what I usually do in a situation like this. I start to ramble. “Really? I mean, great! Great. Wonderful. Thanks.”

Anna-Marie D’Ancanto, would you *please* shut your trap?! 

“You sure you’re okay?”

Even though I think he tries to sound as cold and unaffected as possible, I can still hear a carefully shielded concern creeping into his tone. An almost hidden tenderness, and I’m suddenly convinced nothing has changed. I have no idea where this unyielding confidence comes from, but it’s a sudden solid knowledge that fills my veins with a warm, comforting calm. 

“Fine,” I return, a smile chasing away my nerves. “Really. I just need a break.”

I wonder if maybe he already knows about the divorce. Maybe someone has told him? 

Trying to keep my tone light, I explain, “I can use a vacation. Decided to finally visit Anchorage. You know I’ve always wanted to go there, and… well, I’ve been through some stuff lately. I don’t know if you’ve heard?”

“Yeah. Heard about--” He stops. A weird, loaded pause follows, but then he continues with, “Congratulations.”

And I’ll be damned if that wasn’t forced politeness. So he hasn’t heard about the divorce yet. He’s either talking about my wedding day or about the control I had over my skin. Either way, both reasons for congratulating me are gone now, but I don’t want him to worry.

“Thank you. I won’t bother you with details. I just wanted to know if I could use the cabin for a while. So… when can I--?”

Hoping he senses my reluctance to elaborate, I trail off and wait for him to decide where this conversation is going, but he’s careful. Really careful. I can almost hear him think. 

“When do you need it?”

So he chooses the safer ground instead of pressing the matter. Or maybe he just doesn’t give a damn anymore. It’s a good question though. I haven’t really thought about that part yet. Let’s see, I want to leave on my birthday. That’s three weeks from now. It’ll be a good way to start my new life, celebrating it all by myself on one hell of a road trip. I need at least one day to get to Westchester and talk to Charles, and at least four weeks to drive up north. That makes… whoa, December already. 

“I’m not sure yet, but let’s say… first week of December? I can call when I know the exact date.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good. Thanks.”

Crap. Now what? Should I say goodbye first? I hate this.

Before I can make up my mind, I hear Logan sigh, and he sounds almost unwilling when he asks, “What’s with you and Chuck?”

Ugh. I should’ve known he’d pick up that part. Me and my big mouth. 

“Nothing. Well, that’s not true. It’s something, but it’s… complicated.”

“Try me.”

Despite my reluctance to say more, I can’t help but smile. I have to remind myself that it has been four long years since our last conversation, and it wasn’t exactly a happy chat either. It would be so easy to just give in and let him help me. 

“Look, it’s a long story. Trust me.”

“I’ve got time.”

Damnit. Why is he doing this? I don’t want his help. I want to take care of myself. I think… I think it’s time to be blunt. 

“I am *fine*. Really. I don’t need a hero anymore.”

But those words cause another silence. 

I start to hate it. I never knew silence could be this loud. Never knew it could be so accusing. Never knew it could tie a knot in my stomach and leave me nauseous. 

He answers after a few good seconds. “Good. Retired from heroism a couple years ago.”

And then I’m the one without words. 

This is the most complicated conversation I’ve ever had, including the talk with Bobby and with my mother. I’m walking a slippery slope, and I have no idea where I’m heading. All I know is that I have to keep on going. I’ve been standing still for far too long. 

“Logan, please, I’m going through a bit of a tough time, but I can handle it. I didn’t call to spill my problems. I don’t need someone to pick me up again. I’m sorry I’ve bothered you after such a long time. I just had to know if I could use your place for a while. That’s all.” 

I take a deep breath, feel my eyes water, and impulsively continue, “But now that I’m talking to you anyway, I might as well use this opportunity to say a few things in case… well, just want to tell you that I hope you’re doing okay, and I want you to know that I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I’ve missed you, and I’m really sorry for… for a lot of things. I didn’t mean… I never wanted… I’m… sorry. Really. For… a lot of things.”

There. That’s the best I can do under these circumstances. Tears are leaving wet trails of guilt and regret on my cheeks, but I’m glad he can’t see them. This is my fault. My pain. I’m not begging for forgiveness. I just want to admit that I’ve been wrong. I want him to know that. He deserves to know. 

This time the following silence serves as a barricade. All my senses are alert, and I *know* he wants to say so many things, but when he’s found his voice, it’s emotionless and reserved. 

“The cabin is ready in December.”

He breaks the connection, and I’m so completely drained, I don’t even have the energy left to be disappointed. 

Closing my eyes, I’m still convinced things will work out fine. There’s still a connection. There’s still a leftover from our bond. I’m sure of that. I felt it. And maybe, just maybe, I can worm my way back into this life. 

Maybe we can become friends again.


	42. Chapter 42

“Rogue! Breakfast’s ready!”

Bobby. He’s still calling me every morning. It’s pissing me off more and more. I don’t want to act as if we’re fine. I want to be on my own. I want to stop thinking about others. I want to stop *talking* to others. And most of all, I want to stop talking to *him*.

“Rogue? You coming?”

I ignore his calls, pulling my duvet over my face to growl into the fabric. 

I don’t want to get up. What am I supposed to do? I quit work last week. Bobby and I turned up in court, we answered a few questions, we paid everything we had to pay, and now we have to wait until the divorce is official. The last three days I’ve been keeping myself occupied by packing my stuff, and stashing everything I can’t take with me in a storage unit. I’m done. I want to get going. I can’t stand the thought of my life being on hold any longer. I’ve wasted enough time already. I want to hit the road today.

I can almost hear Logan say, “Are you running again?”, but look who’s talking. Who ran first, huh? 

“Rogue! Are you up already?”

Sighing, I turn around and growl again, just for good measure. 

Well, fine. Maybe I *do* want to run away, but what’s wrong with that? I’m not running away to *forget* my problems, I want to run in order to take care of them. And is it technically possible to run away when you don’t really have a home anymore? 

Last night, Remy offered me a room in his apartment once again. He’s been such a wonderful friend. I’ve been complaining about pretty much everything for the past two weeks, but he didn’t seem to mind. He made me promise to call him every few days when I’m on the road, so… you know what? I’m going. Today. Right now.

* * *

Half an hour later, I’m walking into the kitchen. The house looks empty now that my personal stuff is gone. Impersonal, somehow. I guess it really is a woman’s touch that makes a house a cozy home. 

Bobby’s pouring some milk in a glass, and he looks over his shoulder when he hears me enter. 

“Hey,” he greets me with a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

I decide to drop the bomb right away. “I’m leaving.”

“Okay. Are you coming for dinner?”

I roll my eyes. I swear, I feel like I’m living with my parents lately. 

“No. I mean, leaving as in forever. Today. Now.”

“Oh.” He looks lost for a moment. “I thought you wanted to wait until your birthday?”

True. I wanted to make it a rebirth-ceremony of sorts, but screw poetic metaphors. I’m done waiting around.

“I changed my mind.”

He nods pensively, but then he smiles again. “Okay. Well, do you have time for breakfast?”

What the hell. Might as well say goodbye properly. 

“Sure,” I say, and sit down in one of the chairs while he gets another plate, glass, and cutlery. 

“So, how’re feeling? Excited?”

The question makes me smile. “Actually, yes. It’s a bit surreal yet. I’ve been dreaming about this trip for so long, and now I’m actually going.” Then I slump in my seat and confess, “But I’m not looking forward to seeing Charles.”

He sits down opposite from me. “You know I’ll come along if you want me to, right?”

“I know,” I answer, glad that we’re still able to talk normally instead of fighting all the time. “But I have to do this alone. You understand, right?”

He shrugs. “Not really, but it’s okay. If you feel that way, I guess it’s okay.”

“Yeah. That’s how I feel.” Looking around, I say, “It’s weird being here, knowing I’ll probably never come back again.”

“Hey, I thought we’d stay friends?”

“Of course, silly. It’s just… it’ll be different, you know? This won’t be my home anymore. And by the time I’m back, you’ll probably have yourself another girl. Maybe even a kid. I doubt she’ll be happy to have me around.”

“How long are you going to stay away then? Years?”

“Carol’s money will last me a year at least, I think. I don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Guess it’s one of those things I have to find out on the road.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says, a little forlornly. “The house is empty without you.”

“Buy a dog. Or a parrot,” I mutter a bit unkindly, but then I catch myself and explain, “I have to go. It’s hard to sit here and act like nothing has changed. Like we’re okay and all. And I guess we are on some level, because we’re not fighting, but it still hurts, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I want this, the divorce, but it still hurts to see you. I have to remind myself that we’re not together anymore. That I can’t come up to you for a hug. Or tell you that I love you. Those things. Because I did love you, and I still do. I still feel like you’re family. And it hurts knowing I’m going to leave. I’d rather leave right away.”

“If you still love me, then why can’t you just stay here?”

“Because!” I jump up and turn around to pace the kitchen. “Because… family isn’t enough. I want… I want more. It’s all or nothing, you know that. We had this conversation already. I can’t accept this life. I feel like… like… there is all this candy spread out in front of me, but I can’t have any. I’d rather not see it at all, because that way I won’t be so aware that it’s off-limits all the time. Don’t you see?”

“Yeah, I do,” he admits, although not very eagerly. “Just know that you’re welcome here. No matter what. It’ll be better that we’re not going to see each other for a while, but you’re still my best friend. I want you to know that. You’re still welcome.”

“Aww, sugar. Don’t go all emotional on me now. It’s hard enough already,” I return, trying to keep myself from crying. “I think… I think it’s time to go.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and stands up as well. 

I look at him. “I guess… this is it, then, huh?”

My soon to be ex-husband uncomfortably shuffles his feet. “Yeah.”

“Well, okay. Goodbye?”

“Bye. Take care,” he says, keeping his distance, and that hollow pain in the area of my stomach returns again. 

More tears are welling up, but before they can escape, I pick up my old, green duffelbag, and turn around. Without looking back, I walk straight through the door, and try not to think about how many times I’ve said goodbye to the ones I care about by now.

* * *

Okay. Judgment day. I’m still a bit stiff from riding the bike for so long, but I wanted to get here as fast as I could. I’m standing in front of Charles’ office, nervously pulling at my clothes, tugging at my hair, and straightening my back. It’s now or never. I really want this conversation to be over with. 

I knock on the oak door, and wait until he calls me in. He knows I wanted to talk to him, but I haven’t told him why. I’m sure I’m projecting loud and clear, so he’s got a chance to brace himself. 

“Come in,” he calls, and I take a deep breath before I push and enter his office.

“I want to see my file,” I hear myself say, and it’s almost like I hear Logan talking through my voice. 

Charles face falls for just a split-second, but he regains his posture soon enough, and warmly smiles at me. “Good evening, Rogue. It’s good to see you again. Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“Spare me the small talk--” I hastily swallow down the word ‘Chuck’, and continue, “I want to see my file. Bobby has told me everything.”

He pensively stares at me. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

I cross the room until I stand in front of his desk. Planting both hands on the expensive, polished wood, I lean down and spell it out. “I’ve been a mission. You thought I was dangerous, and so I was turned into a *mission*. You ordered Bobby to win me over.”

The room is filled with loaded silence for a second or two, in which he’s undoubtedly making his way into my head. I can feel it, but I let him. In fact, I try to project everything I feel and think about the matter, hoping he’ll break eye contact first, and admit his wrong-doing. 

Leaning back into his wheelchair, he nods a little, and simply says, “I see.”

I stand up straight again, and gesture frantically in the air. “I want an explanation. I want to know why, what, how, and when. Oh, and I want to know who was involved.”

Because, I swear to God, I’m gonna touch you if you don’t give me any answers. 

I’m not sure if Charles heard that, but if he did, he doesn’t show it. He calmly laces his fingers, cocks his head, and asks, “Do you remember our book discussion about Wuthering Heights?”

“I’m not here to talk about literature.”

He nods again. “I understand, but as you may recall, we had a discussion about Heathcliff and Catherine. You thought Catherine and Heathcliff were meant to be, and I disagreed.” 

“So what? Stop dodging the bullet. I’m here to talk about your crappy matchmaker qualities.”

He continues imperturbably. “I explained both Heathcliff and Cathy were children of the Storm, living high up the mountaintop. They were wild, out of control, almost barbaric. Isabella and Edgar were children of the Calm, their lives safely sheltered down in a peaceful valley. The Storm and the Calm needed each other to find stability. Balance. And that is what I was tying to give to you. Yes, you were a mission, though I wouldn’t call it that as such. I merely wanted a child of the Storm to feel welcome. And since you were a healthy teenage girl, I considered that a little attention from a child of the Calm would be enough.”

“A little attention?” I snort. “That’s one way to put it. Bobby took it like he had to marry me. Quite literally.”

He pensively stares at me, and seems to put two and two together. “I see. Well, I can assure you that I never implied anything if that nature. I never intended to hurt you, nor did I want Robert to feel obligated to be involved in a relationship with you in any way. I assumed you two liked each other, and were happy.” 

Crap. This isn’t going the way I had imagined it in my head. He almost sounds reasonable. Could it be that Bobby took this mission-crap way too seriously?

Trying to hide my sudden doubts, I grunt, “All good and well, but I still disagree about Cathy and Edgar. She didn’t want a valley-boy. She wanted the untamed mountain man, and I can’t blame her. Valley-boys are dull.” 

He smiles a patronizing smile, like he’s dealing with a rebellious child, and it sparks my anger again. 

I narrow my eyes at him, and ask, “Who knew, besides Bobby?”

“Since this wasn’t an official mission, I did not discuss it with anyone.”

Oh, good. That means I can still trust my friends. 

“Okay.” I sit back into one of the comfy chairs in front of his desk. “Official mission or not, Bobby was young. He was eager to show that he was worth being an X-Man. He didn’t want to disappoint you, so in a way you took advantage of him. You should’ve thought about that. Also, you said to him that I was dangerous. If I was such a hazard, why didn’t you pick me up any sooner? I was on the road for eight months.”

“Your mutation itself is not an immediate threat. When I use Cerebro, I concentrate on class four mutants and up. I missed you completely. Only when I caught a glimpse of Erik’s mind was I able to find you. You were with Logan already, and I assumed I’d misread Erik’s thoughts. An adamantium-laced skeleton seemed much more valuable to him than lethal skin, but, as we both know, I was quite mistaken.”

Understatement. But let’s not go there. 

“So, you got two mutants for the price of one. Good for you. It saves fuel and all,” I sneer. “We did that little test in the lab, and we found out about my ability to absorb other powers. I bet that’s where you changed your mind about me, huh? Saw the danger?”

“Yes. I realized you were much more powerful than I originally considered, and feared that Erik knew your potential as well. Assuming he wanted to persuade you into joining the Brotherhood, I tried to prevent that by offering you a home first.” He sighs, and adds, “Of course, as I realize now, my measures might have been a little too forceful.”

“Hmpf,” I snort, hating that he makes sense. “Like I’d ever join *Erik*. I never had a hunger for power.”

“Yes, but you say this after he has done you wrong. Back then, you were frightened, and lonely. You were barely seventeen. I could tell you wanted to stop running. You were easily persuaded. You even considered staying with Logan.”

God, he’s so right. It makes me embarrassed all over again. Still, talking about Logan makes me all defensive, so I retort quite snappily, “What was wrong with that? Logan would’ve taken care of me just fine.”

“We both know that he was incapable of teaching you how to use your powers ethically--”

“Why? Because he was barely holding up himself? For your information, Logan’s got a strong sense of honor, and I knew what was wrong and right already. If you’d just taken the time to get to know me, you should’ve seen that all I wanted was a place to belong to. I just wanted some people who cared.”

“Precisely. I tried to give that to you. The school, Bobby, you made friends. I thought I was doing what was best, for both you *and* Logan.”

Crap. I talked myself into a corner. I should’ve known I’d never win his stupid talk. It’s Charles’ *job* to talk. He knows how to convince people. 

Knowing I won’t get to point the accusing finger his way, I slump in my seat and ask quietly, “Talking about Logan… how’s he doing? I haven’t talked to him in so long. Really talked, I mean. I miss him.”

Charles’ tone changes to compassionate. “Logan is back to the man he was before he came here. I can tell that you want to see him again, but I fear it wouldn’t be wise. He will only hurt you, and in spite of what you think, I do care about you. I don’t want you to chase a person that does not exist anymore.”

Typical. Bobby has said something similar. Chasing a fairytale. 

“Thank you for your concern,” I tell him dryly, “but I don’t need a babysitter anymore. Or a matchmaker, for that matter. I can make my own decisions from now on, and I will chase whatever and whoever I want.” 

Maybe I should tape that message and send it to all the men in my life. I didn’t know I had so many protectors. If I’d known, I might have felt a little less lonely all those years.

I get an intent stare. “Rogue, I’d like to point out to you that all decisions made in your relationship with both Robert and Logan were your own. I did not use my powers to convince you of what was right.”

“You think I don’t know?” I ask, suddenly impudently, because I really don’t need my own flaws to be spelled out like that. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m just as disappointed in myself as I am in you. You said you tried to give me a home, but you never made me feel like I was a real part of this place. I’ve been watching from the sidelines all along. I never really participated, I just lived here. And maybe that was because so much had happened in such a short time, but still, even among my own kind I always felt like an outsider.”

He looks down in defeat. “You have been through a lot. I tried to protect you. I offer you my apologies if you feel that way, but I did it to the best of my best ability.”

Sighing, I have to admit, “I know, but I’m still not sure what to think about all this. I’m upset about your interference with my love life. It’s… creepy at best.” Then I show him my best glare and add stubbornly, “You had no right. I *still* think you’re an old meddler for doing so.”

Surprisingly enough, that makes him laugh. “You are absolutely correct. It is time someone told me the truth. It gets tiring to always be treated with respect. You tend to forget your place.”

I smile, too, despite the weirdness of it all. “Well, I’m glad I’m the one who put both your feet back on the ground.” Then I catch the awkward choice of words, and add sheepishly, “Well, figuratively speaking, of course.”

Again he laughs. It’s a relieved sort of laughter. He knows we’re done now, and to be honest, I’m just as glad. 

“It is alright, dear,” he assures me. “Why don’t you rest a little. This has been a very emotional day.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter, staring at gloved hands. “I could use a long, hot bath.”

He’s back to his chipper self again. “Excellent. I hope to see you back into my office tomorrow, though.”

I suspiciously look up. “What for?”

He casts me one of those familiar, warm smiles. “You wanted to see your file, and we’re not done talking yet.”


	43. Chapter 43

‘I merely wanted a child of the Storm to feel welcome.’

Charles’ words kept resonating inside my head while I was taking my bath. Now I’m wrapped in one of the mansion’s fluffy bathrobes, trying to concentrate on the map that’s spread out on the bed in front of me. Without success, obviously. 

A child of the Storm. 

Am I like that? I’ve been passive for so long, I think I forgot who I really am. There are times when I’m certain I’m supposed to be wild and free, but then the thought scares me. Wild and free sounds all kinds of adventurous, but it can easily turn into selfish and alone. I have to make sure I don’t cross that line. Something Logan apparently did, if Charles is telling the truth. 

‘Logan is back to the man he was before he came here.’

Damn him. He had a home here. Friends. People who cared. He didn’t have to stay all the time, but at least he had a base he could return to. Why didn’t anyone try to stop him from returning to his old life? Because that anyone should have been me? Was I his link to this place? Jubes once said that Logan would never leave unless I left first. Could it be that she was right?

If that’s the case, it’s my task to try and see if I can haul his stubborn ass back to the land of civilization. I’ve accidentally brought him here once, maybe I can do it again. With a bit more finesse, of course. I can make this journey a combined mission - getting my own act together, and shaking some sense into Logan as well. I can start by calling him to say I’m going to leave here a week early. That’ll be a nice excuse to have a chat. 

I dial his number and wait, pulling the bathrobe a little tighter around me. I hope I can keep the giggles at bay this time. Somehow I don’t think he’d be amused if I called just to laugh hysterically. 

There is a click, some rustling noise, and then a rather aggravated, “Yeah.”

“Hey. It’s me, again. Marie,” I tell him in the most optimistic kinda way. “How’re doing?”

There is a short pause before he barks, “I don’t have time for chitchat. What’s up?”

Right. So it’s going to take some time to drill a hole through that armor. Screw finesse, I need patience instead. Which is fine. It’s not like I’m on a schedule or something. 

“Well, I’m calling you to tell you that I’m leaving a week early.”

“So?”

“So… I thought you’d like to know. To get the cabin prepared and all.”

Lame excuse. Lame. Excuse. I know it, and I know that he knows it, too.

“That’s it?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Fine. It’ll be ready.” And then he hangs up on me. Again. 

Well, great. Isn’t that all kinds of swell? What a rude sonuvabitch. 

I flop back on the bed, and stare angrily at the ceiling. 

Goddamnit. Now what? Should I call back? Should I even bother at all? Isn’t this a lost cause? Am I giving myself too much credit? Who says that I caused his setback anyway? And who says I have what it takes to make him open up again?

A knock on my door disturbs my brooding. “Hey, chica! You in?”

Jubes. And from the sound of it, Kitty too. 

“Yeah, but I’m in a bitchy mood and don’t feel like getting up. Phase in, okay?”

“Okay!”

There is some mumbling going on, and suddenly both friends appear through the door. 

Jubes’ rubbing her arms, looking down and straightening her clothes. “I’ve done this a hundred times and it still creeps me out. I always have to check and make sure I’m still in one piece. You know, like that movie The Fly?” She glances my way. “Makes you wonder about Kurt, huh? What if he bamfes into some place where some fly is… uh… like, flying? Will he mutate with the fly, too? Become all weird-looking and stuff?”

Kitty rolls her eyes. “The man looks like a blue demon. How much weirder do you think he can get?”

Jubes stops her erratic examination. “Oh. Right. You tend to forget those things eventually. It becomes normal, you know?” Then she realizes she came into my room for a reason, and asks, “Anyway, Roguey! Missed you! How are you holding up, girl?”

Their banter amuses me. Seems like some things never change around here. 

“Well, I felt kinda crappy, but now I’m better. Thanks.”

Kitty smiles warmly. “Anytime. So, wanna talk about… Bobby and all?”

They sit down Indian-style at the foot of the bed, and it makes me feel like we’re sixteen all over again, ready to share our silly secrets that felt major important at the time.

“No. Not really.” I shake my head and fumble with the robe belt. “I have a question for you, though. Do you think I’m a child of the Storm?”

Jubes cries out, “What? No way! First of all, you’re, like, white. And Storm’s way too young to be your mom.”

Chuckling, I explain, “*The* Storm, stupid. Not Ororo. You remember that book discussion about Wuthering Heights? The one where Charles explained the metaphors? The mountain, the valley, the Storm and the Calm?”

“Oooh! You mean, are you like Cathy? Well, you’re definitely *not* that boring blonde chick. What’s her name again?”

Kitty offers, “Isabella Linton?”

“Yep. Silly chick. Dull. No self-esteem whatsoever.”

“Really?” I ask. “You don’t think I’m like that?”

Jubilee laughs. “No way! Okay, so you haven’t been my most exciting friend lately, but hey, you came in with a growly, sexy man with claws, and you’ve been kidnapped by a guy with a cape for an evil plan to take over the world. I’d say that’s quite a start.”

Nodding, Kitty chimes in. “Definitely. You’re still first in my book of exhilarating friends.”

It earns her an elbow from Jubes. “Hey! I’ve been shot. How about that?”

“Oh, please. Don’t take it out on me again! Logan told me I had to stay close to Bobby. I couldn’t phase you *both* in time.”

Breaking into their little mockery, I ask surprised, “He did?”

It quiets them both, but then Jubilee is the first to respond again. “Uh… yeah. Didn’t you know?”

Huh. Bobby never wanted to talk about the war. 

“In case you forgot, I wasn’t exactly there,” I point out. “Which is one of the things I really regret now. I should’ve been there as well. I should’ve fought along with you guys.”

Kitty bends over and touches my knee in a comforting gesture. “Hey, you did what was best. Your mutation isn’t useful in battle, we know that. And, besides, your presence would have stressed out Logan even more.”

“Totally,” Jubilee joins her, pouting. “He was really keen on keeping the Bobster alive. Didn’t give a damn about me.”

“Oh!” Kitty exclaims. “That’s not true! He took the rest of the bullets!”

“Yeah, whatever.”

I sigh. “Girls, please? Can we go back to my question again? You know, child of the Storm and all?”

“Right,” Kitty replies. “I think Jubes is right. You’re definitely not the Calm. I’ve told you once before already. Look at your name. You didn’t pick ‘Rogue’ because you like to knit. Maybe it’s time to do something Roguish again?”

Jubes bounces up again down. “Yep! Like… picking up totally doable hitchhikers!”

“Eeew! No way! Don’t you dare!”

“Hey, she’s a free woman. No need to be living like a nun. She can have fun if she wants to!”

I wave my bare hands in front of them. “Hello! Are we forgetting something? I lost control again, remember?”

Jubes gives an indifferent shrug. “So? You pick up the doable ones with a fetish.”

“Sure. Like she’s going to ask if they’re into lace and latex before they get in the car,” Kitty returns dryly. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s raid the Professor’s cabinet. Just for old time’s sake.”

Again Jubilee bounces like a four-year-old. “Yes! Sleepover! It’ll be your farewell-party!”

“I don’t know, guys. You really think leaving with a hangover is a good start?”

Jubilee jumps up already. “Don’t be such an Isabella, girl. Let go of the animal trapped inside of you. Kitty, you get the liquor, I’ll get the snacks.”

Oh, fuck it. Jubes is right. This one’s for old time’s sake. Cheers!

* * *

Three hours later, my friends are passed out in my room, and I’m swaying on my feet in the bathroom, clutching onto my cell like it’s a religious symbol. So I’m drunk. Sue me. I’m going to call Logan and tell him that he’s an ass for hanging up on me while I was trying to make conversation. Who does he think he is? I’m not to be messed with. I’m Rogue! I’m a Child of the Storm! Ha!

It takes a while before there is a connection, and in the meantime, I really try not to fall on my ass. I carefully lower myself on the edge of the bathtub, and get a deja vu of my eighteenth birthday. The birthday Logan said he wanted to be second on my list in case things didn’t work out with Bobby. I might hold him to that. 

The thought makes me giggle, but I try to keep it down. Don’t want to wake up the drunk duo. I bet they’re gonna cheer for me when I tell the rude bastard that he’s… well, a rude bastard. 

Hey, what do you know, after what seems like an eternity, the rude bastard picks up, sounding quite groggy. “Goddamnit. It’s… two a.m. What do you want?”

Yep. Good morning to you, too, sugar. 

“Listen to me, you big lug,” I hiss blearily. “Excuse me for taking up your precious time, but as I recall, you said that we’d still be friends at the boat house. That means that as long as you don’t break up officially, that’s still our status. And guess what? Friends call. Talk to each other. Exchange chitchat and shit. They don’t hang up without saying a proper goodbye. So, here’s the deal. You either tell me the friendship is off, or you can dig up enough politeness to have a decent conversation. I really don’t like to be threatened like I’m no one, and maybe I should tell you that I’ve gained super strength. You won’t want to piss me off anymore. I can totally kick your ass now. It’s up to you, bub.”

There. That should teach him. 

Smirking, I nod once for good measure, but when it stays quiet on the other end, I fuzzily shake my phone to see if it’s still working. 

Hmm. Yep. Seems fine. 

Just when I’m about to ask if he’s still there, he answers, “I bet your balance still sucks.”

Is it my imagination, or do I really hear a smile in his voice? Not that it matters, because his answer makes me deliriously happy anyway. This is the first time *he* actually referred to our shared past, and in way that means he acknowledges my presence now. 

“Fuck balance,” I say in my sweetest tone of voice. “I can fly.”

Another pause, but then he admits, “Yeah. Heard that.”

“You did? Good. That’ll save me a lot of explaining. I’m invulnerable as well. How about that? I’m actually useful now. Cool, huh?”

“That’s why you did it? To be useful?”

What does he sound so angry for? And since when is he playing shrink on me?

“No. Not really. I admit I had some selfish reasons, but mostly I did it because I wanted to help a friend in need.”

“You took a risk.”

“Well, a certain friend took a risk by saving me, once. I thought I’d follow his example and spread the nobleness.”

Silence.

Sure. Take your time, sugar. I’m gonna be patient. In the meantime, I’m gonna be drilling, digging, and worming my way back into your life, so you better get used to me again. 

When it’s obvious that he’s not going to say anything soon, I pick up the conversation again. 

“So… you didn’t really answer my question earlier tonight. How’re doing?”

“Fabulous,” he retorts sarcastically, but I ignore it. 

“You were about to fight again, huh? The first time that I called you? Did you win?”

“No.”

“Why not? Getting a bit rusty in your old age?” I giggle. 

Sighing, he explains with a forced patience, “Wouldn’t be much of a bet if I always won.”

“Ah. So you’re playing the crowd. Of course. Maybe I can sign up for a fight someday. With my new skills and all. No one would ever expect *me* to win. I could make a fortune. What do you think?”

His answer sounds like a growl. “There are better ways to make money.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that, but I don’t think I’d have a lot of clients. You know, untouchable skin and all.”

Another silence, and this time I can’t help but laugh. 

“I’m kidding, sugar. Lighten up, okay? Did you forget to pack your sense of humor? I’m at the mansion right now. If you tell me where you left it, I can come up and bring it along.”

“Great,” he sneers. “It should be next to politeness.”

Ugh. Damn him. He always manages to throw my own words back into my face. 

“Yeah, well. I uh… I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow instead of on my birthday. I don’t really have a schedule or anything, so I don’t know when I’ll be there, but I can keep you up-to-date about where I am. If… if that’s okay with you?”

Please, say yes. Please, please, please. It’ll be the perfect excuse to talk to you again.

Silence. Some rustling, and then silence again. I don’t even hear him breathe. Did he put the phone down? 

“Logan?”

There is the rustling again. “Look…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and I have this sinking feeling that he’s trying to think of a polite way to tell me to fuck off.

“I won’t bother you much,” I hastily inform him. “Just… maybe once a week? And if you feel like checking up on your humor, you can call me as well. You know, to see if I take good care of it and all.”

A sigh. Then, another pause, but finally, he agrees. “Okay.”

Okay. So it’s not a very eager affirmation, but it’s a start. 

“Great. Well… I guess… I guess I better get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So… uh… goodnight?”

And what do you know? This time I actually get a proper ending. 

“’Night.”


	44. Chapter 44

After a night filled with laughter and booze, the inevitable morning-after came up. It forced my former roommates to wake up with groans and whimpers. I felt rather chipper - God bless healing - until I remembered I had called Logan to threaten his ass. Jubes and Kitty thought it was hilarious when I told them about my pathetic attempt to intimidate him, and in the end, I managed to get a good laugh out it as well. After all, I got him to agree that I could call him once a week. It’s a start.

Right now, I’m standing before Charles’ office once again, waiting for his approval to enter. I hope he’ll make it quick. I want to get going.

“Come in, Rogue.”

Opening the door, I greet him. “’Morning.”

“Good morning, dear,” he replies, smiling. “Don’t worry. This will only take a minute.”

I blush and roll my eyes. One day I’ll learn the skill of blocking my thoughts. I *really* should practice more. 

If Charles is aware of my inner dialogue, he’s ignoring it. Holding out a dossier, he explains, “I’ve made a copy of your file. I advise you to take extra care of it. This is very valuable information to some people out there.”

I take the papers, and nod. “I’ll make sure to keep it with me at all times. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a credit card. “And this is my humble contribution to your adventure.” 

I want to start protesting, but he holds up his other hand, and says, “I insist. Use it in emergency situations only, if you wish. I don’t allow my students to travel without a proper safety net in case of urgent matters.”

His concern makes me smile. “I haven’t been your student for years.”

Stale blue eyes lock with mine. “You will *always* be my student, Rogue. You will always have a home here.”

The sudden sentiment makes me feel a bit awkward. 

Shuffling my feet, I look down and mutter, “Don’t go mushy on me, will you? I don’t want to ruin my makeup.”

My uneasiness makes him chuckle. “You’re quite right. This is a celebration, not a farewell. I wish you a pleasant journey, and I hope you’ll find what you are looking for.”

“Thanks, Professor.” I sigh. “Me, too.”

* * *

I’m almost done here. Hugged my friends, promised I’d call and write, and now I only need to seek out one person – Emma. I find her in the gym, changing from her workout.

I enter the locker room, and say, “I hate to say this, but you were right all along. About Logan and my parents, I mean.”

She doesn’t even bother to look up. “I know.”

Her answer amuses and annoys at the same time. “Some modesty wouldn’t hurt.” 

She returns in her sweetest tone of voice, “Modesty is for people who don’t have any other talents.”

“Right,” I mutter, knowing things won’t turn for the better if I stay here and chat with the most devious woman in the mansion. “I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for trying to talk some sense into me back then. I’m sure it was just to amuse yourself, but still, you tried. So… have a nice life. Or something.”

When I turn around, she stops me by saying, “He still cares.”

I freeze, debating whether I should take the bait or walk away. “Whatever.” I opt for indifference, but I know it’s futile with a telepath as strong as Emma. 

She snorts. “His feelings are much stronger than yours. They’re more primal. Do you actually think you’re ready this time?”

Looking over my shoulder, I snap, “It’s none of your business. And stay out of his head. He likes his privacy.”

“You are just as protective of him as he is of you.”

I really should get going. Talking to her won’t do me any good, but why can’t I make my feet move?

She wins, of course. I turn around. “Why are you telling me this? And why did you try to help me back then?”

“Because I’m a romantic soul?”

That makes me laugh. “Try again. I prefer the truth this time.”

She stares at me, and I stare back until she looks away. Zipping up her boots, she answers, “You have passion. I like that in a woman. Fighting spirit. This place is packed with mindless followers – I find your rebelliousness refreshing.”

Oookay… I wasn’t expecting that one. “Really?” I ask skeptically and decide to make the best of this rare opportunity of female bonding. “Then tell me this, suppose I’m ready this time, am I still going to be second best?”

“Silly child,” she answers, sighing. “Clueless as ever. You were never second best for Logan. Back then, I was referring to Bobby’s feelings for Kitty.”

* * *

I thought being on my own again would be hard. I thought I’d be lonely, just like those eight months after I ran away from home, but after six days on the road, I still enjoy this odd sense of freedom. I can do what I damn well please. I don’t have to defend my decisions to anyone. No explanations, no restrictions. This is my life, and for the first time ever, I feel that I’m fully in charge. 

Of course, not everything is hunky dory. I’m doing this for a reason. I haven’t miraculously recovered from the failure of my marriage. Bobby and I were together for so long, I can’t ignore the hurt inside of me, but the more I allow myself to feel it, the more I’m convinced that I don’t really miss *him*. I miss the family he represented. A fantasy about a home of my own. A place where I can be *me*.

I think that place can be Westchester eventually. Jubes, Kitty, ‘Ro, Scott - they are my real family. They’ve never let me down so far, even though I left them. They’ve been supportive all the way, no matter what road I took. I’m still not sure about Charles, but that’s simply because I have this natural aversion to telepaths. 

I’m a pretty private person. I have enough trouble with other people inside my head already. I like my thoughts to be mine, and mine alone, and they are now. In my truck - my new mobile home - I feel safe enough to let my thoughts roam free while I drive. One ‘what if’ scenario follows up after another, and even though I know it’s no use, I still don’t want to stop them. 

What if I never met Logan? What if we never ran into Sabretooth? What if we never ended up in Westchester? What if Logan and I had ended up together one way or another? What if Bobby dumped me after sleeping with me the first time? What if I had listened to my gut and broke up with Bobby right after Alkali Lake? 

There are moments when I think that everything has happened for a reason. A relationship with Logan at such a young age would have been unbalanced. I would have seen him as the adult, causing me to stay dependant forever. I think that would’ve chased him away eventually. Logan needs a woman who stands up for herself, not a girl who allows others to walk all over her. If I can be that woman now, there might still be a chance. 

There are also moments when I think we simply met too soon. We were at the wrong place at the wrong time, and that’s just it. No romantic musings, no fantasies about fate and second chances – no, we simply fucked up. Those thoughts usually creep up on me at night, when I can’t sleep. Or, like yesterday, on my birthday. 

I decided to celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday in a luxurious hotel, and I had a really good time all by myself. A Jacuzzi, room service, fluffy bathrobes, huge TV – life seemed pretty good. My friends called, even some of Bobby’s, and Bobby himself as well. It was a bit of an awkward conversation, but considering our situation, it was nice of him to reach out. 

All day long I enjoyed the feeling of complete independence and not needing anyone around to make me feel good, but as the clock ticked the last minutes away, I came to realize that I’d secretly been waiting for another phone call – Logan’s. I knew deep down inside that he wouldn’t contact me first, and it annoyed me that I let myself hope. It also annoyed me that I let it affect me that much. 

I don’t want to need other people anymore. I don’t want to count on others just to let them disappoint me, but I also know that if I shut everyone out completely, I’ll become a prisoner of my own defense system, just like Logan. There has to be a middle way. One that avoids pitiful dependence and selfish isolation. I hope to find it on this trip.

To help myself find the right mental path, I’ve been writing a lot. This expedition isn’t just a trip to Anchorage, it’s a spiritual journey as well. I figured, to accept myself again, I have to accept all the things I’ve done wrong. So I started to write down my life from the moment I kissed David. I don’t really write it chronologically, just flashes of memories, conversations, feelings. Whatever pops up. 

I also listen to the radio a lot. When I hear a song that seems to fit a certain part of my life, I scribble pieces of lyrics in my notebook. I have internet access in this hotel, and today I downloaded all the songs I’ve gathered so far. I’m going to make a soundtrack of my life. Music that will help me to get closer to my goal: feeling good inside my skin again. 

Talking about my skin – I go gloveless most of the time, except when I have to pull over for gas or other groceries. It’s winter. No one really notice that I’m fully covered. No weird questions, and no funny stares. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Especially now that I know what’s in my file. 

It’s interesting to read that Charles always considered my skin controllable, and that he thinks my lack of control is stress-related. He wrote that he doesn’t rule out a possible Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after everything I’ve been through. I think he’s right. 

So, I’m a mental case. No surprise there. Before absorbing Carol, I always considered my skin a purely physical thing, but I kind of like the thought that it turns out to be an indicator of my psychological health. Even if that psychological health is an itty bitty screwed up right now. In a way, my lack of control represents a scar, just like the platinum streaks in my hair. 

I didn’t know how much scars mattered in the process of dealing with trauma until Logan healed me the first time. When I look at my chest now, I don’t see proof of the horrible night I got stabbed, and that makes it a bit surreal. Like it didn’t happen at all. I guess it’s a natural surviving mode of the human brain, but it didn’t help me to actually deal with it afterwards. Even though I still felt phantom pain, it only became real when Logan apologized in the train. Up until then it had felt like a nightmare. 

Now I understand why some people get tattoos as a reminder of something. Physical evidence is a constant reminder, and it allows you to grieve or rejoice over and over again. Maybe I should get a tattoo as well. Or… not. I’m invulnerable. I forgot. 

I wonder if Logan ever thought about that. He doesn’t have any scars, and he doesn’t seem to age much either, so that means that his body denies him a tangible past. If he created artificial marks, would his healing get rid of the ink? 

Hmm. Fascinating thought. I suppose I can always ask.

* * *

“Hey,” Logan greets me cautiously after my second attempt to call him tonight. His cell was switched off earlier this evening. 

“Hey,” I return, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Can you talk right now?”

“Yeah. You got a divorce.” 

He says it almost accusingly, but I highly doubt he cares about Bobby’s feelings right now. Maybe he’s annoyed that I hadn’t told him yet?

“So much for subtlety,” I answer, and I'm trying very hard to figure out my next move. “How do you know?”

“Text from Jubilee.”

Oh, crap. I sincerely hope Jubes isn’t wearing her matchmaker hat again. I told her to drop all ideas about how to get Logan and me in the same room, because she’s convinced my divorce is Karma’s idea of a second chance. Silly chick. 

Sinking down on the edge of my bed, I explain, “I wanted to keep it quiet a little while longer. I didn’t want you to worry, and I told you already, it’s kinda rude to call after all those years only to spill my trouble. I feel bad enough that I had to call for a favor. It seems awfully selfish.”

“You’re alone now?”

“Uh… what do you mean? Am I seeing someone, or am I taking this trip all by myself?”

A slight pause, but then he asks, “Is the answer gonna be different?”

Counter-questions. I’ve always hated those. 

“I’m not seeing anyone, and I’m taking this trip alone. I’m a big girl now. Got my own truck and all. I don’t have to hitch a ride from grumpy cage fighters anymore.”

“I wasn’t grumpy.”

“Right. You were your own charming self.” I grin at the thought of him back then, but I try my best casual tone when I ask, “So… how about you? Seeing anyone?”

“No.” 

It’s short and to the point, but it doesn’t leave me room for more digging either. To be honest, up until now it never even occurred to me he might not be single anymore. He was so sure of never wanting a relationship when he touched me the last time, I figured it would be a forever-thing. Just the thought of him being with someone else makes my stomach ache, so I’m very relieved I never even considered the possibility before.

“Two bachelors roaming the earth then. Speaking of roaming, where are you anyway?”

“Close to the cabin.”

“Cool. Are you gonna stay until I’m there, too?”

“Chuck needs me for something. Don’t know how long it’ll take.”

Wow. That’s not a ‘no’. That’s *definitely* not a ‘no’. I feel like twirling around while my heart instantly skips a beat. 

“Alright, but if you make it, I’d really like to see you again. To have a beer or something. I promise I won’t bother you with depressing divorce stories.”

His reply is actually kinda sweet, even though he delivers it as a grumble. “I wouldn’t mind. You okay about it?”

“I’m not on top of the world yet, but I’m climbing,” I tell him honestly. “Oh, and before you draw your conclusions, Bobby and I decided this together. I know you threatened to disable certain body parts of his, but there is no need for violence.”

“He told you.”

“Yeah. He should’ve told me a long time ago, but he said you can be quite persuasive.”

“I have my ways.”

I bet he’s smirking. Bastard. 

“It’s not funny,” I reprimand him, even though I’m smiling as well. “The poor boy was very upset.”

“Yeah. I’m real sorry,” he replies dryly. 

I should be mad about his interference, but I just can’t get rid of the silly smile.

“We’re not done with this topic yet, but I didn’t call to chat about Bobby’s body parts right now. I actually wanted to ask you something else. Did you ever think about getting a tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind? And did you go through with it?”

“Japanese Calligraphy. Didn’t last long. Why?”

“Well, I was thinking about getting one, but then I realized that I’m invulnerable. The needle probably can’t penetrate my skin. It made me curious, because even if it could, I wondered if my healing would take care of it.”

“It does.”

“Oh. Too bad. These powers are kinda cool, but in a way they’re quite limiting as well. No tattoos, no new piercings… I’m glad I can cut my hair and nails. I guess invulnerability doesn’t go for dead tissue or something. I wonder if I can even still wear braces...”

“What for?”

My mood instantly changes, and certainly not for the better. I don’t tell him, but I sometimes hate myself. I sometimes hate my teeth, my nose, the shape of my mouth… My eyes are too close to each other as well. I look like a wrongly-proportioned comic figure. Ugly enough to never tempt Bobby. He told me himself. 

Forcing my tone to stay on the bright side, I say, “I was thinking about maybe closing the gap between my teeth.”

“Don’t. It’s you,” he offers, and I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. 

Is it an attempt to make me feel better? Does he like the way I look, or is he used to it? I mean, we’re all used to Kurt looking like a blue demon. If he’d tell me he wants to change skin color, I’d probably say the same. 

Closing my eyes, I bite my lip and try to smooth things over before I go all insecure-female on him. “Never mind. The thought just bothers me sometimes. That I don’t have a choice anymore. Smaller nose, bigger boobs - it’s a fashion thing, you know?”

“No. I don’t. Fashion isn’t high on my list.”

That actually makes me smile again. “But your style has always been quite consistent. Lumberjack meets biker. *I* totally dig it.”

“Yeah… Look, I gotta go.”

He suddenly sounds a bit impatient, like he’s eager to rid of me. It makes me wonder - am I getting too close again, or is he really tired if me already?

“Me too,” I lie. “I’m hungry. The Pizza Hut across the street is calling my name. So… talk to you later?”

There’s an awkward pause, but then he sighs and says, “Sure. Watch your back, okay?”

There’s definitely something affectionate in his voice. It makes me ecstatically cheerful, but I don’t want him to know I’m grinning like a moron. 

“Like I said, I’m a big girl now. But I will. Thanks. And… bye?”

“Bye, kid.”

He’s gone, but… Oh, God… did he just call me 'kid’ again? 

I have to make sure I don’t bump my head against the ceiling when I take off to spin around in the air. 

Yay! He just called me ‘kid’ again!


	45. Chapter 45

The days of the second week go by at a peaceful pace. Life on the road is remarkably simple when you don’t have to worry about food and shelter. I love my freedom and financial independence, and I haven’t felt lonely yet. If I’d known that I’d enjoy solitude this much, I probably wouldn’t have held on to Bobby all those years. This road trip is proving to be quite a useful lesson. 

I’ve also learned that I love to drive. The changing environment stimulates my thoughts in an odd kind of way. It makes me see life from different angles, and it helps me accept the past. Still, it’s not that easy to forgive myself for all the things I’ve done wrong. I’m working on it, but at least I can face myself in the mirror without inwardly cringing anymore. Yesterday, I actually forgot to put on my gloves when I pulled over for gas. I think it’s just a matter of time before I can control my skin again. 

I still call Remy every other day to tell him that I’m okay, but it starts to feel like an obligation. I think I’m going to tell him that I’ll switch to email instead. I’m done with paternally-concerned men. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Remy, but I’m tired of being treated like a fragile, little girl. I know my looks are deceiving, because without makeup I still look eighteen at best, but I’m twenty-five, damnit. I have all these really cool powers – no old geezers in capes will get their hands on me this time. Ha! 

Super-mutant abilities notwithstanding, I still have to pee like any other human being. Since I’m stuck in traffic due to bad weather, I’m getting quite concerned. It started to snow about an hour ago, and I normally love the white, fluffy flakes, but I hate to drive when it’s slippery. I think I’m going to take the first exit. If I don’t get to a toilet soon, I’m actually going to wet my favorite pair of jeans. 

My cell phone rings, and I groan when I have to bend to my right to fetch it. My bladder hurts, and if we don’t move a little faster soon--

“What?” I bark, scanning for the nearest exit up ahead.

“Hey, kid,” a deep voice says, and suddenly all my problems seem to disappear because… he called! Logan called!

My lips instantly curl into a bright smile, but I’m trying to tone down the enthusiasm so I won’t scare him away again. “Hey, you.” 

“Check up. How’s it going?”

“I’m stuck in traffic because of the snow, and I *so* have to pee.” I groan when I actually hear myself say that out loud. “Okay, I don’t think you needed to know that.”

A quiet chuckle. “We got snow here as well. You got snow chains?” 

“Yep. Scott made sure I’m good, but I couldn’t get them on just yet. I can’t seem to get off the road.”

“How about four by four?”

“Sugar, I have the best damn truck you’ve ever seen,” I tell him smugly. “I think Charles tricked me into accepting it, because no way Scott could have bought this thing with the money I sent. It’s got everything. Except for a frigging toilet.”

“Can’t you pull over?”

“Are you kidding? It’s *cold* out there. I’m *not* gonna flash my butt in front of all these truckers. God, times like these I really wish I had a dick.” I sigh, and then remember something I wanted to tell him for quite a while. “Oh, before I forget, if you’re wondering what happened to your bike - I left it at the Mansion. Took really good care of it. Doesn’t have a scratch. Well, hardly. Nothing a good paintjob doesn’t cover.” 

“Told you, it’s yours.”

“And I told *you* that I’d only borrow it. Remy and Carol kept asking if I wanted to sell, but I don’t sell other people’s property.”

“Who’s Remy?”

Oh. Um… oops? He seemed in a good mood, but that was definitely a growl. I don’t have illusions about his feelings for me, but if he cares just the slightest bit, talking about other men isn’t the smartest thing right now. Not when *he* actually called *me* this time.

“An ex-colleague,” I reply neutrally. “And a friend. He and Carol were best buddies.”

I hope mentioning Remy with Carol in the same sentence will do the trick, but I mentally kick myself for being such a thoughtless ass. 

“Right.” He obviously doesn’t buy my reply, even though it’s the truth. “Do you know when you’ll be here?”

“If today’s any indication, it’ll be around Christmas next year. Or maybe the one after that. Stupid snow. Why? Are you growing impatient?” I tease, and this answer takes me by surprise. 

“I’m leaving next week.”

Oooh! So he *does* want to see me! 

I review my position and miles ahead, and a quick calculation tells me that I can make it if I really step on it. But that would mean giving up time for *me*. Time I need to get my act together -- the reason I’m taking this trip in the first place. 

For a second or two, I’m torn. I *really* want to see him again. Then I decide that this is too soon, and even though I’m disappointed, I’m also very proud of myself. 

“I can’t make it,” I tell him, trying to think of other ways we could meet. “I’m probably gonna stay for a while if that’s okay with you. How long will you be gone?”

“Dunno. A month. Maybe more.”

“Crap.” I know I’ve made the right decision, but I can’t help but feel really disappointed. I don’t sulk long, though, because finally I see an exit. “Oh, bathroom ahead!”

“Okay.” I can hear a smile. “Take care, you hear? I’ll call you in a couple of days to check in again.”

Huh. The irony. I haven’t even told Remy that I don’t need a paternally-concerned man anymore, but the next is standing in line already. But I’m not complaining. Not when he is promising to call me again. 

Smiling, I roll my eyes at his concern. “Yes, dad. I’ll be good.”

* * *

The next two days I’m grinning like an idiot. I smile at strangers, I hum whatever tune comes to mind, and I occasionally even catch myself *skipping* instead of walking. The thought that Logan actually called me, and will do so again, makes me irrationally cheerful. 

I try not to think about the future much, but hope creeps up on me when I drive, or when I restlessly toss and turn in crappy hotel beds. What would happen if we meet again? Do I really want to know? Maybe I’ve been idealizing him a bit too much. What if I see him again and suddenly don’t like him anymore? 

Okay, I know meeting him doesn’t mean I instantly have to marry him, but still, I don’t know if I want my illusion to be spoiled. Then again, what if it isn’t an illusion? What if the man I remember really is *him*? And what if he doesn’t let me in this time? What if he just wants to make sure that I’m okay, and move on?

Those thoughts don’t do me any good, but I can’t help it. One moment I think it’s best to meet and get it over with. I’ll deal with the results later, when I actually know what I’m supposed to deal with. Other times I feel like postponing it for as long as possible, because I’m too scared to deal with either outcome. I’m not ready to jump into a new relationship – assuming that Logan’s in for it as well, and I’m not ready to let go of an illusion either. 

Having all those conflicted feelings is mentally exhausting, but for some reason I’m physically not tired at all. I hardly sleep at night, and yet I’m wide awake every morning, excited to start a new day, hoping to hear from him again. Still, it takes him three days, but I make sure he knows how much I appreciate it and hope he gets the message. 

We talk about the weather a bit, and he asks some questions about my trip. I tell him exactly where I am, and I talk about the cities I passed through and the people I met. He doesn’t reveal much of his life, and even though it takes some effort to keep my curiosity inside, I don’t ask. 

We stick to safely impersonal topics, but that’s okay. At least there are no awkward silences, and the phone call lasts for almost an hour. I basically ramble on, and he actually seems to listen. He also seems to like it, because when we say goodbye, he promises to call again soon. I break the connection, jump on top of my bed, and flap my arms in irrepressible excitement. I don’t care that I look like a total moron -- I’m happy. 

For a moment I wonder what Logan does when he’s this animated, and the thought of him flapping his arms in some wildly-insane happy-dance makes me burst out in silly giggles. Finally, after bouncing up and down for quite a while, I flop down and grin at the ceiling. I’m hot, clammy, and so amazingly content I think it’s almost unreal. 

I suddenly know that I want to see him. I *need* to see him. I need to see his reactions and smell his emotions, because I have to find out if this happiness is justified. I need to know if I’m not fooling myself. So… I’m going to make a suggestion next time he calls - I’m still heading west, and he’ll be coming south. We can meet somewhere in the middle and have a beer. Dinner maybe, if things won’t be too awkward. It’ll be a meeting between old friends. No expectations, no strings attached. 

This actually might be the middle road I’m looking for.

* * *

Oh, fuck. Why am I doing this again? 

I’m on my way to meet Logan, and I’m so nervous I can hardly steer. He has called me every two days for the past week and a half, and even though he tells me that he’s only checking in to see if I’m okay, our talks gradually became a bit more personal. 

I told him about my life in Boston, about work, Carol, Remy, and Warren. I also tried to explain what it’s like to have all these new powers, and how cool it is to be able to fly, but I haven’t mentioned Bobby or the divorce yet. By now we’re relatively at ease on the phone, and as long as we stay away from relationship-related topics we’re good. I hope I can keep it that way today. 

I pull over to the parking lot and try not to ram other cars while I crane my neck to see if he’s already here. I find a parking place behind the bar he suggested, put on my gloves, check my makeup in the mirror for the last time - took me hours to make it look this natural - and then I’m standing on shaky legs, nervously straightening my carefully chosen I’m-not-really-on-a-date-but-I-still-want-to-look-good clothes. 

Taking a deep breath, I cross the parking lot. I turn the corner, remember I have to release that breath as well, and suddenly there he is, leaning against the wall next to the entry, smoking a cigar. 

“Hey!” I run up two steps and fling myself at him, and he awkwardly catches me with one arm. 

“Whoa. Hey.”

I can’t help but hug him for all I’m worth for just a second, and when I let go to step out of his personal space, I suddenly notice his hair. It has grown long. It shields his eyes and falls over broad shoulders. It still looks a bit unruly, but since he also trimmed the sideburns a bit, he doesn’t radiate that feral hostility anymore. 

I always thought he’d be incredibly handsome without facial hair, but this look… it’s… my God. It takes my breath away. Even the furrow in his brow doesn’t represent hostile intimidation. I simply see a mysteriously, vulnerably beautiful man. 

“Your hair,” I stammer thoughtlessly. “It’s… long.”

Ooookay. That’s not the strikingly witty remark that I had in mind, but at least I proved that there is nothing wrong with my perceptiveness. 

“Yeah. I should’ve--” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but self-consciously rakes a hand through that long, thick mane. Looking down, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “It didn’t bother me.” 

“I love it,” I hastily tell him, because I have this sinking feeling that he didn’t take it as a compliment. “You look… great.”

And ‘great’ is the understatement of the century. He looks so damn handsome, I’m already a goner, head over heels with no turning back.

He suspiciously glances up, shuffles heavy boots, throws away the cigar stump, and stuffs his hands in the pockets of well-worn jeans. “Let’s go inside.”

I’ve obviously made him uncomfortable, but I can’t keep the stupid grin off my face. He walks past me to the bar, and I take the opportunity to check out his backside. 

Sweet Jesus. I really thought I probably made him look better in my imagination, but now I realize my imagination hasn’t even done him justice. The man’s a living god. Those long legs, that ass, all that flowing, dark hair… I can’t keep my eyes off of it. If I wasn’t so sickeningly cheery, I’d be embarrassed by my need to touch it. To touch *him*.

I follow him through the doors into the dingy bar, and for a moment I feel seventeen all over again. The place is dark, dirty, and there is a distinct smell of beer-drenched wood. I instantly like it. 

“A beer,” Logan orders, sitting down on one of the stools, “and--.” He looks over his shoulder, and I jump on the stool to settle next to him. 

“One for me as well.” 

The barkeeper gives me a doubtful stare, and I roll my eyes and sigh. Reaching for my ID, I mutter, “Here you go. I’m perfectly legal to drink.”

It earns me a sideways look from Logan, and another intent stare from the barkeeper. Then the latter hands me back the ID and smirks. “Perfectly legal for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

Returning the man’s smile, I drawl playfully, “I’m married, sugar, and there’s already a second on my list.”

The moment the standard response to flirting men leaves my mouth, I realize what I’m saying. It has made Logan turn around, and he’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. I feel the warm blush creeping up my skin when I meet his surprised expression. 

“Uh… I mean… you know.” I helplessly wave my hands in the air and quickly peek at the barkeeper for help even though the poor man doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. “I didn’t mean that. Well, I did, but I always say that… so… shit.” The awkward situation makes me a giggle nervously, and I slap Logan’s upper arm to hide my anxiety. “Damnit! You’re not supposed to remember that.”

The barkeeper, who’s been staring at us from one to the other, finally seems to understand that it’s time to get us a drink, and chuckling, he gets back to work. 

To my surprise I see Logan’s mouth curl up as well. “Kid, I’ve been waiting years for you to come to your senses. How could I forget?”

And now *I* am the stunned one. 

It’s such a casually-delivered remark, and even though half his face is hidden behind a curtain of hair, I still notice an amused glint in those gorgeous, hazel eyes. His whole demeanor has changed from guarded insecurity to relaxed confidence, just like that, and I’m completely thrown for a loop here. 

Not sure how to interpret his answer, I huff defensively, “Well… you could’ve given me some incentive, you know.”

I get a lopsided almost-grin. “I was being noble. Giving you time. Shit like that.” He nonchalantly shrugs one shoulder, and takes a good swig from his beer. 

I blink. And then I blink again, my mind completely blank for a second or two. All I can do is gawk. There has to be a catch. This is far too easy. I didn’t count on talking about feelings and mistakes right now. Above all, I certainly didn’t think we would be talking like this. This… straightforward and simple.

Reaching out for my own bottle, I try to hide my confusion. “Gee, thanks. Next time when you see me stumbling around with my head up my ass, please knock some sense into me. I’d appreciate it dearly.”

“Fair enough.” He nods, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, now that we cleared up the past, I say we consummate the agreement. Don’t feel like fighting the third one before I had you at least once.”

The words are loaded, but his tone is so casual and sort of indifferent, I have no idea what to think. What the hell is he doing? He can’t possibly be serious, can he?

“There is no third, stupid. I closed the list after you signed up.”

“Means I have time to finish my drink.”

His answer makes me laugh, and I slap his arm again. “Stop it! I’m in the middle of a divorce. I’m supposed to be weeping and wailing and feeling miserable. You’re ruining my drama-moment.”

The bastard actually has the courage to sigh dramatically. “Fine. No consummating tonight. How about we get you a room, have dinner, and try to get drunk?”

I nod. “Now *that* sounds like a plan.”


	46. Chapter 46

Three hours later, we’ve had dinner, and we’ve switched from beer to whiskey. I’ve told Logan pretty much the real story about my divorce, but I didn’t tell him about Bobby’s ‘mission’. I also didn’t tell him that the Professor basically considered me a living weapon he wanted to lock up in a safe place. I’ve told him that I was flattered by Bobby’s attention and how we sorta ended up – and stayed - together due to circumstances. I’ve explained how I judged Bobby through my parent’s eyes, and how Bobby almost desperately tried to please his folks after their rejection. 

I didn’t point out Logan’s role in my personal soap – how I kept clinging onto Bobby because he didn’t seem to want me, and I didn’t tell him about my lack of sex life either. About how I was dumb enough to let myself hope that my skin wouldn’t matter if someone really cared. That I thought someone would go through the fuss and actually enjoy having planned, clothed sex, with the risk of having the life sucked out of them. I mean, how naïve could I be?

“What made you walk away?” he asks, leaning back into the booth we moved to for dinner. 

I shrug. “We went to see my parents, and it just… clicked, I guess.” Looking up, I ask, “Do you remember when I told you about my first kiss? In the train, after… you know?”

He nods, pensively staring back at me. “Yeah.”

I look at my empty tumbler and turn it around in my hands. “My dad really like David. He was the son he never had, and Bobby was so much like him. So I sat on the couch, sipping at my lemonade, I was listening to my mother’s stupid fake upper-class accent, and suddenly I realized I married the boy my parents would’ve picked. It had nothing to do with love. It was never about me wanting Bobby. It was about me wanting my parents’ approval, and that’s… that’s just wrong.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, and I pretend not to notice the uncomfortable silence. He fills our glasses while I try to crawl out of my pity-corner and realize I’m a bit drunk because I’m trying to keep up with him. I don’t want to appear weak though, and it’s no fun to have depressing conversations only. Time for a change. 

I let my eyes roam over his new look, and plaster a semi-careless smile on my face. “God, I love your hair. Can I touch? Without my gloves? I’ll be careful.”

An apprehensive scowl. “Why?”

Rolling my eyes, I answer, “Duh, because I won’t feel it otherwise.”

He answers my cleverness with a patiently blank stare from under those long, dark bangs. “Why do you want to touch? It’s just hair.”

I shrug. “I bet it feels really nice.” Then I grin and lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “I’ll make you a deal. If you let me touch yours, I’ll let you touch mine.” I wink, and sit back again. “You used to play with my hair all the time, remember?”

Ignoring my question, he slams back his drink. “I should cut it.” 

“No! No. Promise me you won’t? I’m not gonna mention it again. Honestly.”

I show him my best sincere look, but he just angrily glances sideways, pouring himself another shot. 

Well, fine. I’ve learned a few things so far. He seems genuinely interested in me and my life, and he lets me ramble on for ages. Which is good, I suppose. Unfortunately, as soon as I refer to the past, or ask him about his whereabouts, he shuts down. It’s been a real pain. I’m done talking about myself all the time. 

I take a sip of my drink, and I notice that my glove has gotten wet. Holding up one hand, I blurt out, “I could control it for a while.”

Half-hidden eyes instantly dart from everywhere-but-me to my hands. “What happened?”

Yeah, good question. And kinda stupid of me to bring it up now. It’s misery all over again. 

Sighing, I mumble, “Carol showed me the switch, Bobby took it away again.” 

A pause. 

He’s obviously waiting for the rest of the story, but I’m not gonna reveal more of my crap. 

“Never mind.” I try to shrug it off. “Long story. Depressing. I’ll gain control again. That’s one of the reasons I need the cabin.” I yawn and stretch lazily. “Ugh, I am tired. What time is it?”

He finishes his drink and gets his wallet. “Come on.”

Hastily downing mine, I splutter, “Where are we going?”

“To bed.” He casually throws some money on the table, and gets up.

Giggling, I shuffle out of the booth. “You sure don’t waste any time on sweet talk, do you?”

He casts me another annoying, blank stare. “To sleep.” 

Turning around, he doesn’t wait up, and when I ogle his backside once again, I can’t help but sigh. “Hey, I knew that.”

* * *

God, I had such a restless night. 

Knowing Logan was just a few doors away, I couldn’t make myself relax enough to fall asleep. I kept playing out our meeting over and over again in my mind, wondering if I got my explanations out right, hoping he understood what I was trying to say. 

Morning came too soon and yet not fast enough. I had no idea what to say, or how to behave when we would meet again at breakfast, but Logan was his undisturbed self, and somehow I just went along. I can’t say that we’re completely at ease, but I don’t have this nervously fluttery feeling in my stomach either. 

Somewhere between my first cup of coffee and a pancake, he unceremoniously shoved the keys to the cabin my way. He also grumbled something about a bar called ‘Helaku’ and a guy named ‘Tyee’. Seems like I have to pick up some stuff there, and the guy will explain how to use a radio. 

Logan insisted that I contact this fellow every other day, and apparently he instructed the poor soul to arrange a search party if I don’t. That’s just what I need – more people around to save my ass. I’m getting really tired of it, but I didn’t say anything.

The past half an hour we’ve been talking about the rest of my trip, and when we’re not exchanging personal stuff, he’s actually quite chatty. He gave a lot of advice, and I tried not to look bored or ungrateful, but he basically repeated the same things Scott told me a thousand times already. Even though it annoys me a bit, I guess it’s also sweet of him to worry. He certainly doesn’t have to anymore. He doesn’t owe me anything at all. 

“So… who is this Tyee-guy, anyway?” I ask between bites. 

“A friend.”

Hmm. I remember he mentioned having friends other than me once. It was in the middle of a fight. God knows what we were arguing about, but we made up eventually. He called me ‘beautiful, innocent sin’ that day, but I think it’s best not to mention that. 

“What’s he like?” I plough on. “If I have to talk to him every other day, I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.”

“You don’t have to talk. Just set up a signal.”

Grrr! Why doesn’t he just answer the question? It pisses me off that he’s shielding everything even *remotely* private.

Leaning in, I quietly tell him, “Logan, I’m twenty-five. I don't need a baby-sitter anymore. Besides, I heal, and I’m invulnerable. What could *possibly* happen up there?”

He doesn’t look up from his plate. “Stryker.”

“He’s dead.”

“There are a lot of Strykers. And Friends of Humanity.”

“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes, and lean back again. “Why in the world would they come all the way up there to kidnap *my* sorry ass?”

He meets my eyes from under lowered eyebrows. “Don’t play stupid. You know you are valuable.”

Suspiciously narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, “Have you by any chance been talking to Charles?”

“About what?”

“Me. My file. Charles said almost the same thing.”

He snorts. “Every idiot can put two and two together.”

Gee, guess I’m not even an idiot then. I *never* thought about my powers that way. Bobby had to spell it out. Thanks, sugar. I feel a lot better now.

“Right,” I mutter, quite embarrassed to realize once again that I’ve been an ass all along. “I’ll contact some guy I don’t know shit about, hoping he won’t lead them directly to me.”

He finishes his cup of coffee before he casts me a glare. “Quit whining. Drop by like I told you, and you’ll find out.”

I give up. “Okay. Fine. I’ll pay him a visit, and I promise to contact him every other day. You have to bail me out if he sues me for harassment.”

Logan isn’t impressed. He reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and gets out his wallet again. 

“No way,” I tell him. “This is on me.”

“Save it.” He throws the money on the table, and gets up. 

Aaarrrg! Stubborn bastard! Stubborn, mulish bastard! I just want to punch him in the face, but since I’m amazingly strong and not fully in control of that strength, I might actually hurt him. Crap.

I try to reason with him while I hurry to catch up. “You paid for last night as well.” 

He ignores my argument. “You got the keys and the coordinates. Have fun.” He marches right to the exit, and he doesn’t even seem to care if I follow him or not. 

I know he hates the mushy goodbye-stuff, but does he really think I will let him leave like that? He can behave like a first class asshole, but I’m *not* going to let him off the hook that easily. 

The moment we’re outside on the road of the parking lot, I jump in front of him and poke my finger in his chest. “You, mister, are a pain in the ass.”

Impatient, hazel eyes roam over my head to find his truck. “I know.”

“I’m going to pay next time, you hear?”

No answer.

Wait a minute. There’s going to *be* a next time, right? This wasn’t some check-up to see if I’m okay so he can *really* leave, was it? 

Looking up, I catch him edgily shifting his weight again, ready to flee. I know I shouldn’t pressure him, but I swallow hard and tell him honestly, “I hope there will be a next time?”

He seems to struggle with something. I’m pretty sure a part of him wants to run, but another part… I don’t know what the other part is thinking, but suddenly there’s a slight slump of shoulders, and he meets my pleading gaze openly. I see hurt and doubt and insecurity, and I feel like he’s stabbed me in the chest all over again. I know I’m the cause of all those emotions inside of him, and I feel so damn guilty, I suddenly feel the urge to run myself. Then, he looks down and reaches for his collar. It’s such a familiar gesture, I hold out my hand before my brain actually registers what’s going on. 

Lowering the tag and chain, he mumbles almost grudgingly, “You know the drill,” and then he’s gone. 

I’m just standing there, dumbstruck, staring at his tags in my hand, feeling the warmth from the metal through my glove. Someone honks their horn, and I almost jump a mile high without using my ability to fly. 

Hastily I step aside to let the car pass, and I’m right on time to see Logan opening the door of his truck. 

“Thanks!” I breathlessly call out to him, and he glances over his shoulder before he gets in. But guess what? 

I *definitely* saw an almost-smile.

* * *

The rest of the trip is kind of weird. The population decreases and the roads are empty. I feel completely at ease and insanely excited at the same time. I bounce in my seat and sing horribly loudly along with the radio and my CD’s. I reach for the tags around my neck at least five times an hour, just to make sure they’re real, and I know - he still cares. 

It takes me five days to get to Helaku, and all that time my cell phone has been quiet. It doesn’t surprise me one bit. I never even dreamed that he’d hand me his tags again, and I think it must have surprised him as well. I bet he’s not sure whether he has done the right thing, so he needs some time to brood over it. As hard as it is to simply leave him be, I totally understand. 

Still, I’m secretly glad I’m about to meet Tyee. If he’s Logan’s friend, he might be able to tell me more about the last couple of years. Maybe he can fill in some of the gaps. 

I enter the bar, and an instant, friendly warmth wraps itself around me. The smell of spicy food, beer, wood, and something else – herbs? - teases my sensitive nose. The place is dark in a cozy kinda way, and a man with long, grey hair in a ponytail turns to face me. I find myself looking into the twinkling eyes of an old Native American. 

“You must be Dakota’s friend,” he greets me, toweling off his hands, and I frown in confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” I return in my politest way possible. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m… a friend of… Logan.”

Am I still his friend? And should I have said ‘Wolverine’ instead? Crap, why didn’t Logan tell me those things?

The man doesn’t seem to be put off one bit. “That’s what I said. Have a seat. Did you have a nice trip?”

“Uh… Yeah.” I hesitantly sit down on one of the stools. “Are you Tyee?”

The man nods. “Yes, and you are Rogue. What will it be? Coffee? Beer? Something else?”

So Logan didn’t tell him my real name? I’m not sure what to make of it, but I smile sheepishly, and say, “I think I can use something stronger. Do you have Baileys?” I reach for my ID. “I’m older than I look--”

He holds up his hand before he turns around to pour us both a drink. “I know.” 

Ooookay. So Logan must’ve told him my age. That means Tyee is at an advantage, because he seems to know more about me than I know about him. I wonder how much he knows exactly. Logan isn’t the type who spills his heart to just anyone. 

“Logan hasn’t told me much,” I confess. “Just that I had to drop by so we can set up a signal. I assume you know I have to contact you every two days once I’m up there?”

He shows me an all-knowing smile. “I’ll show you the radio when you’re ready, and I have a list of instructions for you as well. Finish your drink first. Relax. You’re almost home.”

Home? What has this guy been smoking? I don’t understand a thing, but… I’ll be damned. Home. That’s exactly what this trip feels like. I don’t have a clue what Logan has told him - Tyee is either referring to the cabin, or the search for myself, but, damnit, he’s spot on. 

Allowing my shoulders to relax, I take a deep, calming breath, and raise my glass. 

“I guess you’re right. Cheers.”


	47. Chapter 47

Who knew a small, wooden cabin, on top of a big-ass mountain, decorated with snow and surrounded by pine trees, rocks, and a gorgeous lake would be my sanctuary? Who knew I would feel completely at ease being on my own? Who knew I would be this alive, this complete, without electricity and other modern-day stuff? 

Curled up with a blanket in front of the fire, I do what I’ve been doing a lot this last week. I let my thoughts roam free, and allow my feelings to react, because Logan has built me a sauna and I’m still not over it. I had to rub my eyes and blink a few times to actually believe it, but it’s here. A mini sauna, complete with a bench big enough for me to relax. Memories of our sauna date suddenly rushed back to me, and it made me bawl my eyes out in both gratitude and grief. 

I suddenly remembered us talking about the Pygmalion effect, and looking back on it now, I know I tried to live up to everyone’s projection - a good daughter, a good student, a good girlfriend, a good wife, and a good employee. I tried so hard to be what everyone wanted me to be, but I never stopped to look what *I* wanted.

I don’t think Logan could’ve given me a better gift. It’s all about relaxation in nothing but my own skin, and it shows how well he knows me. Still, it made me utterly sad as well, because I wish I could share all this with him. He knows what it’s like to be seen as a weapon. People tend to forget he’s just a man, they just see his potential. They only think of a way to use him for their own cause, and he lets them, but I remember him holding up his hand, and with not so many words he confessed how he’s aware of the metal inside all the time. I should’ve paid more attention to that. I thought I understood back then, but now I know better. 

When we meet again, I want to tell him that I understand now. That I’m trying to deal with the same thing. I just have to figure out how to get it all out without turning into a self-pitying, weeping idiot, because I don’t want him to think that I need his help. I want to be the one who helps *him* this time.

I wish he would let me close again. He obviously still cares about me, but he literally kept me at arm’s length when we met. It hurts. It also hurts that I can’t call to thank him for his amazing gift, because my phone doesn’t work up here. I used the radio and asked Tyee to thank Logan for me, but as soon as I’m back in civilization, I’m going to call him myself. 

Talking about civilization, at first I was a bit stressed about the lack of electricity and plumbing, but then I learned that going back to basics can be quite satisfying. There is a generator, and Logan has left instructions on how to use it. So far, I have managed just fine without it, because I want to prove that I’m not some spoiled city girl. It’s important. I want to show that I can live *his* way. Not just to Logan, but to myself as well.

The days are short here, so I use those five hours of daylight the best I can. I take long walks, and I make sure I always have enough logs to keep the fire going. I’ve also been trying to fine-tune my new powers. 

It’s kinda weird to take off for a fly in the middle of the city, but here I can do whatever I want. I’ve been flying huge rocks from one place to another, just to get used to my strength and the amount of stamina it takes. I figured out how to make sharp turns, accelerate, and stop in mid-air. It’s all quite exciting, but it sure is damn cold up there. I’m wearing so many clothes, I bet I look like a flying Michelin mummy. 

The rest of the time I spend by the light of the fire and kerosene lamps. I write in my paper journal, take long baths - it takes quite some time before I’ve filled the tub with water from the stove, and I learned to cook without the use of all my high-tech kitchen stuff. 

Logan made sure the cabin came provided with enough food to feed a small army, so I only had to add a few snacks. I actually enjoy taking the time to prepare a meal now. Bobby and I were always so rushed after work, I always hated it, but I’m going to try and cook more often once I have my own place. It relaxes me. 

I also read a lot. I never thought Logan would own so many books, but it makes sense. There isn’t much to do once it gets dark. It’s not like I can watch TV or anything. I bought two spare batteries for my laptop, but I’m trying to save them in case I feel like watching a DVD. It’s the only form of media around here, except for the radio. 

I’ve been contacting Tyee every other day, just like I promised. Usually I just click the mic three times, and so does he. Sometimes we exchange a few words as well, but he never starts a conversation unless I talk first. I like that. In fact, I like that quite a lot. The man respects privacy. 

He hasn’t told me much about his friendship with Logan. From what I know, they met when Logan stopped for a meal and a drink after he won the cabin in some fight. Over the years, they became friends, and Logan has helped him fix Helaku. 

I also know that Tyee likes to rename people. He calls Logan ‘Dakota’ because it means ‘friend’, and he has named me ‘Dyani’. It seems to mean ‘deer’. When I told him I was hoping for something tougher, he explained that a deer symbolizes innocence and peace – irresistible for those who are haunted. 

I didn’t know what to do with the implication, and so I decided to leave it at that. When I tried to find out what Logan has been doing these past few years, he basically pointed out that I should ask the man himself. So… I didn’t get any answers, but I can see why Logan likes him. He’s loyal. I’m thinking about paying him a visit again. I have to go down soon anyway. My PMS-week is sneaking up on me. 

I didn’t bring enough chocolate. I ate everything I had already, but no way am I going to drive to the valley over the frozen mud that should pass for a road. Now I understand why Logan asked if I had snow chains and four by four. It’s impossible to get this far up without those. It was damn slippery, and scary, too. But if the lack of blood sugar becomes unbearable, I’m going to dress up warm and fly down. It’ll be a nice exercise. 

So… all in all I’m doing fine. One moment I’m celebrating life by literally jumping in the air, the next I’m having a pity-party-for-one and blubbering like an idiot. It helps that I’m surrounded by Logan’s stuff. Even though he’s not physically here, this is his home. I’m very much aware that I sleep in his bed, that I sit on his couch, and that I’m surrounded only by his and my scent, because it’s quite obvious he hasn’t brought anyone up here in a long time. Maybe even never. 

It dawned on me that he’s really doing me a favor by letting me stay. He might be running himself, but allowing me in his most personal space is quite something. If I add the tags, I can’t help but hope we’re going to be okay eventually. I always make sure that’s my last thought before I fall asleep – it guides me through a peaceful night.

* * *

Flew down today. Besides almost freezing my digits off, I also met another one of Logan’s so-called *friends*. Her name is Vivian, and I hate her.

I went down to get my chocolate, and I decided to hop by Helaku to talk to Tyee for a bit. He wasn’t around, but a pretty brunette flashed a fabulous toothpaste smile at me instead. “You must be Rogue, Logan’s girlfriend!”

Thank God the bar wasn’t packed, but those who were there turned around and stared at me for what seemed like ages. I’m sure my skin must’ve changed from pale white to crimson red, and I vaguely remember mumbling something like, “Notreallywe’rejustfriends.”

Besides the fact that she embarrassed me by her comment, I also looked like crap with a running nose from the cold and my hair all wild. I wasn’t wearing any makeup, and I’m sure they must’ve thought that Logan’s some creep who’s banging jailbait. How awful. 

Anyway, after a proper introduction, she told me Tyee was out, but she knew who I was, and ‘any friend of Logan’s is a friend of hers’. She managed to charm me into a conversation, and before I knew it, I had blurted out my entire story. 

Damnit. I blame her shameless honesty. She told me about her life first, and I found myself nodding and agreeing with her on so many levels. And then she told me about her relationship with Logan.

Hogging the old, leather couch, I glare at the fire and tell myself not to stress over some woman. Okay, so they’ve slept together – once. It’s not like I didn’t know he had his sluts all over the place, just… actually meeting one wasn’t what I had in mind. Worst of all, she was so damn nice. Disarmingly nice. And pretty. So I’m obligated to hate her. 

I hate her very, very much.

It has made me think, though. How could Logan stand the sight of Bobby? If he only felt a quarter of what I’m feeling now, it must’ve been awful. When Vivian told me she had had a one night stand with Logan, I felt like scratching her eyes out. And she wasn’t trying to make me jealous. She just explained how they met. When Logan and Tyee became friends, she and Logan inevitably became friends as well. 

“Sleeping with a guy I care about tends to make things complicated,” she added casually. “I always end up hurt one way or the other. I’ve learned my lesson by now, so no more sex with men I actually know.”

Right. Like that was supposed to make me feel better. Bitch.

Still, it has taught me that I’ve really been insensitive. I always considered Logan’s occasionally jealous reactions plain annoying. It never occurred to me that seeing me with Bobby might’ve hurt him. He used to be gone on the weekends when Bobby came over, and now I know why. The more I come to understand, the less I like myself.

* * *

“Tyee, you down there?”

It’s been two weeks since my meeting with Vivian, and I haven’t talked to anyone since. I didn’t feel like it. I had too much thinking to do, and I’ve spent these last two weeks taking myself apart, and building a new me from scratch. I don’t think I’ve ever cried this much, but the self-therapy has paid off. I’m pretty sure I found the switch to turn off my skin again today, and I want to celebrate my success with someone. 

“Tyee?”

It stays quiet on the other side, and I glance at my watch.

Crap. Is there something wrong? He’s always been on time for our signal so far. He’s my only link to civilization, and I came to rely on his punctuality.

“Tyee, if you don’t answer sometime soon, I’m coming down, you hear?”

Suddenly there is a click, and a deep voice I know all too well, answers, “He’s fine. Just busy.”

“Logan!” I call out, overjoyed by the surprise. My heart misses a beat, and then makes up for it by trying to pound its way out of my chest. I accidentally lift off and bump my head against the ceiling. “Ouch!” Rubbing my skull, I float down, and force myself to just sit and keep still. “When did you come back?” 

“Just arrived this morning.”

Shit, now what? Does this mean I have to move out? We didn’t actually discuss this part. 

“Are you coming up?”

“Nah. You stay. I’ll get a room here.” 

“What? No way! This is *your* place. I’ll get a room.”

“It’s okay, kid. Just passing through.”

Shit. I was kinda hoping we could celebrate Christmas together. 

“Oh, come on. I still owe you dinner. You either come up, or I come down. By the way, the locals think I’m your girlfriend. You can thank Vivian for that one. If you want to avoid some curious and quite possibly nasty stares, I suggest you come up.”

There’s a pause, but then, “I’ll come up.”

I can’t suppress a superior smile. “Yeah, thought so, too.”

* * *

This is such a weird situation. Logan is coming to his own place, and I’m nervous about how it looks. I’m so attached to this little cabin already. I unconsciously considered it mine. 

The bed is made, the dishes are done, the floor is wiped clean, and everything else is back in place. I hope Logan won’t mind that I’ve been wearing one of his flannels, and I used his parka a few times as well. It was so nice, big, and warm, I felt like I was flying around in a duvet. Oh, and I even tried on his boots once, just for fun. Crap, I didn’t really think about the whole smell-thing. Would he notice?

There isn’t a lot of space here, and I’ve been using his closet to put away my clothes. He didn’t leave much behind. A few shirts, two pairs of jeans, some boxers and socks. Still, I kind of liked the sight of our stuff together. I’m not sure if he’d appreciate it, though. Maybe I should put my underwear back in my duffel bag?

The sound of a truck interrupts my almost hysteric thoughts, and I rush to the small bathroom to check my appearance. 

Oh, my God! I look horrible! My hair is up in a loose bun, and the strands that manage to escape are all tangled. I have a smudge on my cheek, and since I never bothered to use makeup here, I can’t even remember where I left my bag. 

I hastily brush my hair, scrub my face, and brush my teeth. I already know I don’t have time to change, so track pants and oversized hooded sweater it is. It’ll add a certain casualness to the situation. Or so I tell myself.

The slam of a car door, crunching snow, and a short pause before he knocks on the door. 

Aww, silly man. Knocking on his own door. That’s sweet. He actually waits for me to open it, so I put my hair up in a ponytail and run out of the bathroom again. 

I open the door, and… God… he’s so handsome. And tall. And… distracting.

“Hey, sugar,” I say hastily, and I see the almost-smile again. 

“Hey.”

Once again hypnotized by the dark, flowing locks, I almost sigh in delight. “You didn’t cut it.”

A shuffle. “No.”

“I’m glad.”

He shrugs his shoulder to adjust his backpack, and it reminds me that I have to step aside to actually let him enter. 

Grinning, I say, “Come in. Make yourself at home.” 

He glances up, and when he sees that I’m joking, the almost-smile returns. He walks past me, puts his stuff down on the small kitchen table, and looks around. “How’re doing?”

“Good,” I answer truthfully. “I love it here. It’s so peaceful.”

I get a small, but real smile this time. “Yeah.”

Suddenly I feel a bit of an intruder. This is his home, but he doesn’t even take off his jacket. Am I really making him this uncomfortable? 

“Thank you for the sauna,” I say as I lean against the door. “I tried to call you when I was down, but your cell was switched off. It’s… it’s just… I love it.”

His reaction is almost shy with another shuffle and a mumbled, “Welcome.”

Okay. This is becoming really awkward. I think I should leave him alone for a while. Problem is, there isn’t anywhere to go except outside. And it’s dark already. And cold, too. Still, I better think of something. This tension is getting a bit too much. 

“Well, um… don’t mind me. Just… do whatever you do normally.” I look around to find my coat, and spot my gloves on the armrest of the couch instead. 

Shit. I didn’t think about putting them on, and I’m way too anxious to control my skin right now. Stupid me. I could’ve hurt him. 

Snagging my gloves, I vaguely wave in the direction of his bag. “Unpack or something. I… I’ll get some more logs.”

He stops me by saying, “I’ll go down again tonight.”

I instantly feel disappointment crush all hope, but I try to make him change his mind by reasoning, “Please, Logan. Don’t be such a pain. It’s dark, and it’s slippery. I’m not letting you drive anymore. Besides, this is your home. If someone has to leave, it’ll be me.”

But please, don’t send me away in the dark. Please, please, pretty please?

He looks away, admitting grudgingly, “I still have nightmares.”

“So? What’s that got to do with--oh.” 

Hang on. This isn’t about me. He’s afraid he might hurt me again. Ooooh, good! This is actually *very* good!

Suddenly very pleased with Carol’s power, I answer, “It doesn’t matter. I’m invulnerable now.”

Staring at his boots, he keeps silent.

I put on my coat, and walk up to the door. “Come on. Stay. I’ll take the couch, you take the bed. Deal?”

Another shuffle. 

Boy, someone’s quite fidgety here. I always thought I was the squirmy one, but the roles seem to be reversed. No clue how that happened, but it makes him look adorably sexy. I really have to remind myself that walking up to him for a comforting cuddle isn’t going to help things here. I’d probably scare him off good. 

“You know you want to,” I tease. “Don’t worry, I’ll be good.”

He rakes a hand through that gorgeous hair, and he looks around one more time before meeting my eyes. “Okay. But I take the couch.”

Barely able to keep myself from taking off for a nice spin in mid-air, I smirk. “No argument there, sugar. It’s all yours.”


	48. Chapter 48

I think I have given Logan enough time to relax now. The porch is snow-free, and I’ve gathered some more logs. In the meantime, I’ve also been trying to reach the switch to my skin, but I’m too restless. I can’t keep it off all the time, and the more I try, the harder it gets to actually grasp it in the first place. Ugh. Stupid skin. Why can’t I just turn it off and that’s that?

Okay. Getting angry and feeling sorry for myself won’t do me any good. I have to feel confident and strong to be able to turn it off, so no more whining. I’m going to spend the night in a small cabin with the most gorgeous man I can think off. A man who still wants to be my friend after all the shit he’s been through because of me. I have absolutely no reason to complain. 

Pushing the door open with my foot, I try not to lose the top log of the pile I’m carrying. Logan’s standing in the kitchen, and I detect the scent of raw meat. 

“Food!” I call out, kneeling next to the hearth, and piling up the new logs one by one. “I didn’t know you could cook.” 

“Thought you had me up there,” he answers, pointing a sharp-looking knife at his head. 

“You faded, remember? Besides, I wasn’t really concentrating on you as a chef.” I stand up, wipe my gloves, and shrug off my coat. 

“No? What did you concentrate on?”

I walk over to hop up on the counter next to him, and can’t help but notice his rolled-up sleeves, revealing bare, muscular forearms. “I uh… I tried to keep myself from killing Scott and jumping Jean.”

Silence. 

Ooooookay. That wasn’t very subtle. I made him look like some sort of caveman. Damn those arms. They melt my brain.

Trying to make up, I add, “But hey, I understood. I mean, Scott really is a bit of a fart sometimes, and Jean… well, she was pretty. And smart.” Staring at the gloved hands in my lap, I can’t help but mutter, “And touchable.” 

Crap. There I go again. I’m *not* going down that road tonight. 

Ignoring his questioning look, I ask, “So… what’s for dinner?”

He lets me off the hook and gestures to two very tasty pieces of meat on a plate. “Those. You can thank the chief down the valley. You still don’t like onions?”

I think my jaw just hit the floor. 

That’s it. That’s what I meant when I asked Bobby about the little things that make me *me*. I used to remove onions from my hamburgers because I hated them. He actually remembers that? 

A goofy grin almost splits my head in two. “Actually, I’ve grown to like them over the years.”

“Good. Earn your share.” He shoves the knife and onions my way, but I hold up my hands. 

“I have to take these off.”

“So? Take them off.”

“I can’t control it yet. You don’t mind?”

He was about to reach out to one of the cupboards, but he stops and casts me another quizzical look. “No.”

I jump off the counter, and shrug to feign casualness. “Okay. Just checking. I never fully realized the impact of my mutation on others before. Apparently my bare hands represent the same threat as a loaded gun to some people.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve read my file. It’s *there*.” 

I roll my eyes, but he merely snorts and continues preparing dinner. 

“Words on a piece of paper.”

While I curiously stare at him, he pours wine into the saucepan. 

“You don’t think I’m dangerous?”

“Your *skin* is.” He points to the pieces of meat. “*You* are as dangerous as those two. Now start chopping. I’m hungry.”

For some reason, that answer makes my heart do some sort of a weird tap-dance. Grinning, I tug at my gloves, and my shoulders suddenly seem a lot less tense.

* * *

Dinner went quite well, even though most of our conversations were booby trapped. 

There is so much I want to say to him, but I don’t know how to get it out right. There were moments when I thought he felt the same, but he always looked away when I tried to meet his contemplative stare. I guess we both need a little more time before we’re really comfortable around each other again, and I hope he sticks around for at least a week. I’d love to celebrate Christmas together.

After we did the dishes, Logan grumbled something about going outside for a while. I snuggled up on the couch to write in my journal, but he came back pretty soon. When I wanted to scoot over, he simply said, “Stay.” So I did.

He got us each a beer, and then he sat down on the floor, facing the fire. All I have to do is reach out a few inches and I can play with his hair. 

Oh, the torture. He’s so close. So very close. 

Sighing, I tear my gaze from the dark locks, and I stare at a painting of some Asian-looking symbols I found on one of the closet’s shelves. I put it aside, and I’ve been trying to dig up Logan’s language skills to figure out what it says. No such luck so far. I really lost all of his knowledge.

“I needed some space in the closet,” I inform him. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve put the painting over there.”

He follows my gaze to the wall a little to our left. “No.”

“What does it say?”

“Katsujinken. Means ‘the sword that gives life’ in Japanese.”

I think about it for a while. It doesn’t make sense. 

“How can a sword give life? It’s a weapon. Weapons bring death. Or at least pain.”

He takes a swig from his beer and stares into the fire. “The Japanese sword isn’t always just steel. It symbolizes a lot of things. One of them is power. There is setsuninto - the sword that takes life, and katsujinken - the sword that gives life. Setsuninto will be used for cruelty, katsujinken for the greater good. They both kill, but for different reasons.”

Ah. That makes sense. I love to listen to him when he explains stuff. This seems like a safe topic. No booby-traps in sight so far.

“Cool. Is it something that belongs to the bushido legacy?”

“Yeah.”

I look at the symbols again. “So, in a way it says that deliberately taking a life isn’t always wrong.”

The moment those words leave my mouth, I suddenly realize I accidentally stepped on one of my own traps. I was on the receiving end when Erik strapped me into his machine, but I also took a life once – Carol’s. Even though I know I did it for a good cause, I can’t help but wonder if it was *right*, mostly because there were selfish reasons involved as well. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but I never talked to anyone about it.

Logan doesn’t seem to be aware of my inner struggle though. He keeps silent. 

“I was Erik’s sacrificial lamb,” I ponder out loud. “Suppose the machine had worked, do you think my life would’ve been worth it?”

“No,” he retorts quite angrily. “And there was nothing honorable about it. It should’ve been *him* up there.”

Well, can’t argue with that. Those are my thoughts exactly. 

“What about me? I killed Carol.”

A stare over his shoulder. “You said she was dying.”

“She was, but does that make it acceptable? Maybe I should’ve pushed her to go see Hank. He might have been able to help her eventually.”

He shrugs one shoulder, returning his attention back to the dancing flames. “Maybe. Maybe not. She made a decision. You were there to help. Nothing wrong with that.”

I chew on my lip while I mull over his words. “You don’t think euthanasia is murder?”

“You’re not a weapon, kid, and you’re not a killer,” he states calmly, glancing over his shoulder again to fleetingly lock his eyes with mine. “You can leave those things to me.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

No answer. Instead, he gets up and walks over to the kitchen. I let him flee, and stare at the painting again. 

“You said a sword symbolizes many things. What else?”

“Male energy.” 

“Of course. Japanese porn. Why be subtle when you can have a sword for a penis. Bet the scabbard is female then?”

“Yep.” He gets two new beers, and this turn in the conversation amuses me. 

“What’s the tale behind it? I mean, other than the obvious?” 

“Joined, the blade is at peace. Separated, it’s restless.”

I make sure my bare hand doesn’t touch his when I take the bottle, and I vaguely wonder if I should have put my gloves on again. In the meantime, Logan sits down a bit closer, leans back against the couch, and strands of thick, dark hair caress my fingertips for just a moment. Forget the gloves. I’m staying put.

“What about the scabbard?” I ask, fascinated by the romantic explanation. “What will it be without the blade?”

“Empty.”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that one. I thought of something more… valuable.

“Great. You can always count on male chauvinism to ruin fairytales,” I huff. “A blade is still an effective weapon without a place to belong, but a scabbard on its own is useless. I don’t think I like the symbolism very much. What happened to feminism?”

He actually smiles a bit. “Kid, these concepts are ancient. Gender equality wasn’t top priority back then.”

“Huh. You can say that again.” Then I narrow my eyes at him. “What about you? Do you believe man and woman can be equals?”

The smile doesn’t falter. “Male authority, female submission. That’s more like it.”

“Oh, get out of here, you barbarian you.” I playfully poke his shoulder. “You’d be bored to death with a passive woman. Mark my words.”

“You’re stronger than I am now. I have to agree.”

I’m about to answer that when suddenly realize I’ve reached out to him without my gloves. My skin instantly flips on again, but I wasn’t aware it had been off. I don’t want Logan to worry though. And he doesn’t seem to be freaked by it, so I cross my arms, and say, “Well, good. I’m sick and tired of playing by the rules just because I’m a girl. I’m starting to think Charles was right after all. I *am* a storm.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, and now it’s time to give myself another mental smack. How come everything I say comes back to that stupid mission? 

“Never mind.” I sigh. “A discussion about some book. You know Charles. He’s passionate about literature.”

Penetrating, hazel eyes seem to look straight into my soul for just a moment, but then looks away again. “True.”

It’s a change. A change in our relationship compared to before. He used to push me a lot more to talk about what was bothering me. Now, he simply drops the conversation and moves on. Why? Because he respects my privacy? Or because he doesn’t want to get involved in my life anymore? 

I like the first reason, but I have a feeling the second is more likely. But if he doesn’t want to get involved, then why is he here?

Tired of these questions, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Anyway, about the painting again – where did you get it?”

“Went back to Japan for a while. Got it from my sensei.”

Oooooh, answers! Seems like I’m getting personal answers finally. 

“Why didn’t you hang it?”

“I’m not sure he gave me the right sword.”

The response sounds casual enough, but the words are loaded. It takes all my self-control not to reach out and hold him in a good, comforting hug. 

Suddenly regretting my inquisitiveness, I answer from the bottom of my heart. “He did, you know. I’m absolutely sure he did.”

* * *

The rest of the evening I kept all questions inside. We talked about the cabin, the environment, about what I’d been doing these past few weeks, and about how he usually spends his days when he’s up here. 

I forced myself to get up and fill the tub for a bath eventually, but God, how I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him near that fire. I even lured out another smile or two, and when it was time for bed, he walked out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants only. That chest… Goddamn, that chest… and those abs… and those broad shoulders and sexy arms… 

Considering the circumstances, I guess I can say it was quite an exhilarating night filled with dreams about the man sleeping on the couch just a few steps away. 

I have just woken up, and a quick glance to my watch tells me I have at least an hour before daylight. Still, I better get going. I have to pack my stuff and drive down today. Logan’s nowhere to be seen, but I can hear him outside. I don’t smell coffee or any other scent that indicates breakfast, so I think it’s time I do something about it.

* * *

“’Morning,” I call out when I walk around the cabin with two mugs. “Coffee?”

“Hey.” Logan turns around, and the surprised look tells me he likes my gesture. “Thanks.” 

He reaches out, and there’s no need for carefulness this time because we’re both wearing gloves. 

Taking in the scenery, I notice he’s been moving stuff from one place to another under the lean-to. 

“What’re you doing? It’s barely light.”

“There’s a storm coming. I want both our trucks inside.” 

He takes a sip from the hot beverage, and therefore misses my gape. 

“Oh. I thought… didn’t you want me to leave?” 

He frown at me. “No.”

“But… I figured you’d stay here, and I had to take a room in the valley.”

“I said you could stay.”

Uh… weren’t men supposed to be the straightforward communicators? I obviously missed something there. 

“Right. I guess… I’ll stay then. If you stay, too.”

“Yeah.” A nod, and then his eyes drift back to the lean-to. He looks at the sky, takes a good sniff, and checks his watch. “Your new powers… you think they’ll be useful to help me close this side within three hours?

Are we back to the buddy-thing now? First he taught me how to weld and build a bike, and now it’s carpentry-time?

“I gained strength, not speed. I guess invulnerability comes in handy after repeatedly hammering my thumb, though.”

“I hammer, you trudge.”

“Hey, now! What happened to male chivalry?”

A lopsided grin. “Feminism, kid. I think I’m starting to like it.”

* * *

He meant it. He made me bust my ass in those three hours before the storm. Okay, he worked hard as well, but really, I was about to keel over by the time the ice cold wind started to howl, and dark clouds threatened the sky. 

We didn’t talk much, other than the necessary practical consultation, but I did get rid of an issue I’d been worrying about. Actually displaying my new powers. They aren’t that big a deal on their own. By now I’m pretty much used to all sorts of weird gifts, but I’d never really flown, or showed my actual strength to someone else. Not even Bobby. 

It’s a bit of a ‘coming out’ thing, I guess. I didn’t want it to be special, but I also didn’t feel like hiding what has become such an important part of me. So, at one point, I decided that flying planks was a whole lot easier than walking back and forth, and partly embarrassed, partly proud, I simply took off.

Logan watched, quirked an eyebrow, commented, “Handy,” and went back to work again. 

Self-consciousness is a bitch, but he tackled it, just like that. It’s one of the things I really, *really* like about him. He doesn’t make stuff bigger than it actually is. He stabs me, I drain him, we apologize, and we’re good. No fuss, no drama. I like that. I like that a lot. It’s nice to keep things simple in a complicated world. 

From now on, I’m going to keep things simple, too. No more beating around the bush. Honesty is much easier once you get past the initial fear of being vulnerable. Like a yellow brick road, it’ll show you the right path to guide you home again. If there is one thing I’ve learned from all this, it is that stumbling in the dark isn’t my kinda thing. I prefer my lanes brightly lit, thank you very much. 

That means I still have a lot of explaining to do. Things I’d rather not want to talk about, but without Logan pressuring me to reveal my secrets, I guess I have to start a conversation myself. I just hope I’m strong enough.

* * *

“I left your tags on the shelf in the bathroom,” I semi-carelessly inform him after taking a bath, combing my hair. 

I thought about giving them back yesterday, but then he came out of the bathroom half-naked, and I instantly forgot even the very basics in life, like breathing.

Disappointed by his lack of response, although that damn blizzard makes a hell of a noise so I might’ve missed a non-committal grunt, I try a different approach. 

“Do you think we’re going to get out of here alive?”

He doesn’t look up from his book. “Sure.” 

“Will we have to dig our way out tomorrow?”

“Yep.” 

He sits on the floor again, looking unusually cuddly. Long legs covered in loose-fitted sweats, wool socks, and an unbuttoned flannel over a tight shirt. I want to straddle his lap, bury my hands in his hair, and lick that inviting spot just below his ear. 

It’s a thought so unexpected, my skin instantly reacts. It flips ‘on’ again. 

I grimace at the absurdity of it all. I’m stuck up here, a forgotten cabin somewhere in the mountains, half buried in show, and he’s my only company. Such a gorgeous man, so sexy and loveable and everything I’ve ever wanted, and my skin flips on the moment I’m aware of all that. Life’s fucking unfair. 

Hastily, I put on my socks, and don a sweater over my flannel pj’s. My skin doesn’t let itself turn off anymore, and I try to accept it without being too disappointed. It was turned off for the most part of the day. It’s still progress. 

Sitting down on the couch, I stare at Logan, just an arm’s length away. 

I know I’m not scared of him. I’m scared of myself. I’m scared of the sudden, devastating *want* deep inside of me. I haven’t experienced sexual feelings in… months? And I can’t let it happen now. The numbness was so comfortable. I don’t want to crave something I know I’ll never get. I’ll only get rejection. I can’t take that anymore. It fucking hurts so bad, I don’t want to ever feel it again. The mere thought of physical interaction, anything more than just daily casualness, makes me shiver again. 

“Cold?” Logan asks, finally tearing his gaze from Thoreau’s ‘Walden’, and I weigh my options.

The truth. I was going to tell the truth. 

“Yeah.” I nod, pulling up my legs and wrapping my arms around them. “But a blanket won’t do. It’s from the inside out.”

He blinks. Then frowns. Closing his book, he thoughtfully turns around to face me, and asks, “How come?”

I can’t help but smile at that. A minimum of words, but it’s everything I need to hear. 

“Yesterday, while we were preparing dinner, you said I wasn’t dangerous,” I start, fidgeting with the sleeve of my sweater. “Not everyone agrees with you. Actually, I think no one does. Not even Bobby.” 

I glance over, but the look in his eyes is so intensely angry, I instantly feel sorry for Bobby. 

I try to gather my thoughts, and continue, “Despite what everyone thought, my skin was always an issue for us. I know my friends gushed about how brave he was, and they praised him for the sacrifices he had to make, and I did the same. For far too long, actually. And because of that, I let things happen. Things I felt were wrong somehow. I just couldn’t make them stop. I thought I had to be thankful.”

The gold in his eyes seems to flare up even more, and I feel my cheeks redden. 

“Nothing like *that*,” I hastily reassure him. “He didn’t… he didn’t hurt me physically. Well, besides that one time. You know, the time we talked in the garage. Anyway, it wasn’t abusive or anything. It just wasn’t what *I* wanted. Then the whole Carol-stuff happened, and I could control my skin. I thought things would change, but they didn’t. Everything stayed exactly the same. I started to suspect it was me. Not just my skin – me.”

Staring at my knees, I sigh. “We went to see my parents, and so many things became clear. Bobby and I talked, agreed to get a divorce, and we both were relieved in an odd sort of way, but then I wanted answers. All the answers. I wanted to know his thoughts about our sex life. Or rather… the lack of it, and… well… I got them.”

I glance over again, but his eyes dart to the floor and he fidgets with the book in hands. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to hear about this, but I have to tell him anyway. I have to make sure he understands. 

“He told me things… things I don’t want to repeat, but it came down to the fact that he was scared of me. He’d always been scared of my skin, and sex with me had always been a chore.” My vision becomes blurry, and I know one blink is all it will take to spill over the tears, but surprisingly, I don’t care. “I lost a lot of things that night. The control over my skin, my confidence, hope… a few words were all it took, and poof, it was gone.”

Showing him a watery smile, I say, “I’m getting it all back again. That’s why I wanted to be alone for a while. I needed a place to lick my wounds and gain my strength. The control is almost back. Today I managed to keep my skin ‘off’ most of the time. As for confidence and hope… well, I’m still working on it. So… if I appear a bit… you know, wacky… now you know why.”

“He was wrong,” Logan snaps, the intensity of his emotions unmistakable in the almost-growl. “Whatever that ice-prick said, he was wrong.”

It makes me burst out in half a sob, half a chuckle. “That’s sweet,” I tell him, wiping my cheeks. “One day I’m going to believe you, but right now, I’m still kinda struggling.”

The following silence is tinged with frustration on Logan’s side. He clearly wants to do *something*, and if the compulsive rubbing of his knuckles and his exasperated breathing is an indication, I’m glad Bobby’s currently on the other side of the country. 

“You can help me, though,” I say, taking a huge leap into the dark. “Of all the people who knew about my skin, you were the only one who ever touched me casually.”

He warily narrows his eyes, but I cast him a reassuring smile. 

“I don’t expect anything, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, I just want you to know… I wouldn’t mind if you’d, you know, do that again.” 

I meant for it to come out nonchalantly, but I sound so pathetically needy, I can’t help but cringe under his direct, piercing stare. Still, I might as well roll over and play dead, because I don’t think it’s possible to sink lower than this. 

“A ruffle through my hair,” I explain quietly. “Or a pat on the shoulder. The things that seemed so normal back then, but to me, they made a world of difference.” 

I just hit the bottom. 

Standing up, I can’t make myself look at him. “Just… think about it, okay? I understand if… if you don’t want that anymore, but I just hit my humiliation quota for today.” I tensely bite my lip and gesture to the bed. “So… I’m going to hide over there for a while.”

And then I flee.


	49. Chapter 49

I had no idea what to expect when I fled to safety. I went to bed, pulled the covers over my head and tried to disappear. I just wanted to get away from those piecing, hazel eyes, away from the silence, and away from his reaction to my heart at his feet. I thought he’d either come after me to have a cringingly awkward comfort-talk, or he’d run – blizzard or no blizzard. But of course, Logan being his Logan-ish self, he’s being unpredictable again.

While I’m in bed, feeling the comforting weight of the blankets, I’m holding my breath and try to keep myself from cringing. The darkness is providing me a fake sense of shelter, and all I can do is listen. He’s standing up, taking a few steps, and I grip my pillow tight and pray he’s *not* coming my way. Then, there’s the sound of a closing bathroom door, followed by a thump that makes the walls tremble. 

Is he trying to give me privacy? Is he trying to get some privacy himself? Or… maybe he just has to take a leak? Whatever the case, it’s getting quite muggy here, and hiding under the blankets is not only extremely childish, it’s also very impractical. At least Logan has a toilet, water, and not totally unimportant – oxygen. Pretty convenient if you ask me.

I create an air hole, but I refuse to take off my sweater, flannel pj’s, socks, and gloves. I just want to lie still and think for a while, because really, what am I hiding for in the first place? I didn’t do anything wrong. I was being honest. I should be proud now. I should keep my head up and look him in the eye. I put myself out there, and that took a lot of courage. I’ve fought hard to get where I am now, so why did it feel so embarrassing? 

If there is a reason to be embarrassed, it’s because I ran and dove under the covers, not because I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I can’t get up and pretend nothing has happened now though. I made it an issue by overreacting. Ugh. 

Suddenly the bathroom door opens, and I stiffen. 

Silence. 

Great. This is giving me the creeps. Where is he? He’s not going to jump on top of me, right? The mere thought of it makes me almost giggle hysterically. 

His voice surprisingly gentle, coming from the direction of the bathroom still, when he says, “There’s nothing humiliating about asking for help.” 

His words are the exact same thing I’ve been telling myself just a moment ago, but somehow I can’t get out of this stupid, childish behavior. 

“Oh, good,” I quip weakly, “Means I have more credits for tomorrow.”

His response is a sigh that somehow transforms into a low growl, and he starts moving around. 

Hugging my pillow close to me, I count his footsteps. Three, four, five steps away from me. I think he’s turning out the lights. One, two – the kitchen. Three, four – damnit, here he comes. 

He stops right next to me. “How long are you planning to hide?”

“A decade doesn’t sound so bad.”

Another growled sigh, and I can hear him turn around to walk away. 

Mentally kicking myself for being such a child, I throw away the covers and sit up straight, surrounded by darkness except for the light of the fire. “Wait!”

He stops, and stubbornly keeps staring straight ahead while I mutter an apology. 

“I’m sorry, okay? Jesus, cut me some slack here. I’m… embarrassed.”

A gradually released breath, a slight slump of shoulders, but then he turns around and sits down next to me, making the bed dip under his weight. “Don’t be.”

I keep my gaze firmly locked on my fidgeting hands. “Yeah, well, easy for you to say. I just begged you to touch me.” The moment those words leave my mouth, I hear the suggestive remark, sparking a burst of silly giggles. “Okay, that sounded all kinds of weird.”

Logan can’t keep up his poker face either. There is a hint of a smile, and I can make out a mischievously-arched eyebrow under his long bangs. He doesn’t respond verbally, though, and so I try to force down the nervous sniggers. 

Taking a deep, soothing breath, I scoot backwards to lean against the wall, and refuse to look at him. “If you’re here to talk about what I just told you, please, go away. I honestly cannot go through another awkward conversation.”

“Do I look like the kinda guy who enjoys them?”

I dare to glance over again, and I see his lack of enthusiasm clearly represented in his scowl. I roll my eyes, and smile meekly. “Alright. Just… keep it simple, will you?”

“My kinda thinking.” He rakes a hand through that gorgeous hair, and starts, “First, whatever Drake said, he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. I can’t even count the times I wanted to kill the little shit.”

I sigh, and ask only half-jokingly, “Why didn’t you?”

There goes the damn eyebrow again. “You said you loved him.”

“Oh, yeah,” I reply, almost cringing. “That.”

“Right. Second, the reason I’m not --” He stops, and while he struggles with the right words, I can’t help but grimace. 

“Forget it,” I tell him hastily. “Let’s just forget his whole conversation and move on, okay?”

“No,” he snaps, quite aggravated. “I didn’t mean… what you said about touch, about how I was the only one… that goes both ways.” He peers at me to make sure I get it, but I’m not really convinced that I do. His eyes dart down, and he semi-carelessly adds, “Come on, kid, how many people can touch me and actually get away with it without bruises?”

Even though he delivers the words with a half-smile, it *is* sad that his only human contact consists of beating the shit out of some asshole, or fucking some bimbo in the storage room. Both might look quite appealing for a while, but in the end, even Logan will miss a friendly squeeze and a loving caress. 

I’ve suppressed all those moments when I felt like reaching out to him, but this time I don’t. Cautiously putting my gloved hand on his thigh, I opt for levity to make the gesture somewhat less momentous. “You know what, sugar? We’re pathetic.”

He looks down, and nothing happens for a moment, but then he slowly covers my hand with his, accepting my gesture, and returning it by squeezing a bit. “Yeah.”

Silence. 

Right. I just managed to get myself in a somewhat awkward position all over again. His thigh is hard and warm. The soft, seducing fabric of his sweatpants is inviting me to stroke it, and the man himself is keeping my hand firmly into place. Crap.

Clearing my throat, I timidly suggest, “Maybe… maybe we can help each other. You know, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. Quite literally.”

He suddenly lifts my hand and tugs at my glove. “We start with this.”

“What’re you--careful!” I gasp, trying to pull back. “My skin, it’s ‘on’ now.” 

He keeps my sleeve-covered wrist in a bench-tight grip, yanks off the glove, and pins me with a sudden resolute gaze. “You won’t control it as long as you wear these. Keep them off.”

“But--”

“No buts. Keep them off. I’ll take precautions from now on.”

I know that tone - it doesn’t leave room for argument. He lets go of my arm, stands up, and walks back to the couch. Snapping my mouth shut, I stare after him. There is nothing I can do but resign myself to his will, and, if I put it like that, it somehow doesn’t sound all that bad either. 

I knew honesty would keep things simple. Heh.

* * *

“Do you think we can go down soon?” 

I’m leaning on my broom, peering down the snow-covered road. We’ve been digging and wiping for two hours now, and finally the porch is visible again. There also is a nice path from the front door to the lean-to, but the road is still pretty impassable.

Logan doesn’t stop shoveling. “You need something?”

“No, not really. Just… Christmas is coming up. I haven’t bought any presents yet.”

“There aren’t many shops around here. Best to buy those Westchester.”

I stare at him in puzzlement. “Uh… by the time I’d get there, the holidays would be over.”

“They’re not picking you up?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

A quick, slightly confused look before he continues his work. “Don’t you wanna celebrate with your friends?”

It actually makes me laugh. “What are you? My enemy?”

“So… you’re staying here?”

“Well, yeah. If that’s okay with you, of course. I mean, I can take a room down in the valley if you want.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Told you you could stay as long as you want.” 

“Watch what you’re saying, sugar. I might never leave.” 

He grunts. “You’ll get bored soon enough.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but I’m not going to ask. Instead, I continue to wipe the porch some more. “So… guess we have a date then?”

No answer. 

Fine. He’s been pretty quiet all morning. Maybe he needs some space? Some time alone? I have been hovering all day, hoping he’d reach out and touch me, but so far he didn’t. 

“I can fly down and do some shopping if you want,” I suggest. “We have to think about what we’re going to have for dinner. A nice piece of meat.”

No eye contact. “I’ll take care of it.”

Ugh. I’m offering him some time alone here. Doesn’t he get it?

“Okay. You need something else maybe?”

“Nope.”

He keeps shoveling and ignores my stare. 

After our talk last night, I decided to get some sleep. He disappeared into the bathroom for a while, and when he came out, I peeked from under the covers to watch him toweling his hair before crashing on the couch again. This morning, he was up and outside before daylight once again. I fried some eggs and bacon and called him in for breakfast. I caught him checking my hands to see if they were ungloved – they were - but he didn’t say anything other than the necessary conversation about shoveling snow. 

I’m tempted to ask him what he’s thinking, but I read somewhere that men hate those kinda questions. Still, I’m not gonna let him spoil my mood. I feel bouncy, damnit. I want some entertainment.

“Wanna help me make a snowman later today?”

“A what?”

His incredulous stare make me laugh, and I crouch down to make a snowball. “A snowman. Ever made one?”

“Every time I had the urge, I managed to suppress it,” he retorts dryly, attentively watching my moves. 

“How about a snow fight?”

“I prefer the real thing.” He eyes the snowball in my hand. “You don’t want to throw that.”

Grinning, I compress and mold some more snow into a nice, round projectile. “Why not? Afraid you’ll lose?”

There’s the mischievous eyebrow again. “You wanna play? No powers.”

“Há!” I huff. “Do I look stupid? You can’t turn off your senses.”

“You have them, too.”

“Yeah, but not as good as yours.”

“Okay, you can fly. But only for speed, not height.”

Are we really negotiating powers for a snow fight? Wait ‘til I tell Jubes about this. 

Sticking out my tongue, and creating a third ball, I tease, “You can’t throw high enough?”

“You done talking?”

“It’s called diversion, sugar. I have three balls already. You have none.” 

And that sounds so terribly wrong, I can’t help but burst into laughter. “I mean, uh… you get the point, right?”

His answer is a well-aimed snowball square on my forehead, making me shriek and laugh even louder. 

“Hey, now! That’s not fair! We haven’t even started yet!”

“Quit yapping. So far, you’re on the receiving end.”

Ooooh! He’s gonna get it now!

I pick up the snowballs, and he ducks behind a pile of snow. We throw, we laugh, and we have uncomplicated fun. The chase provides a good opportunity to explore the use of my powers, and I manage to surprise him *and* myself a couple of times by flying aside to avoid a direct hit. His senses are far too accurate, though. He dodges every damn ball I throw without the use of my extra strength. Time for a change, no more holding back. 

I guess the playful chase is a nice way for him to lose his initial reservations, too. At one point, he actually jumps on top of me. I want to take off, but he’s faster. We fall down in a heap of limbs, and he manages to rub a handful of snow in my face. I laugh, scream, splutter, and cough, but he jumps up and out of reach before I can pin him to the ground to do the same. 

The bastard!

I grab another handful of snow, and compress it while I chase his ass around the house, adeptly flying where he has to run. I manage to catch him after at least four rounds, and again we roll over, laughing and tussling. I use all the strength I have, and when he pins me down, I’m strong enough to throw him off of me. The problem is, every time I victoriously end up on top, I lose my leverage, and so he can switch positions without breaking a sweat. It makes the winner pretty much undecided. 

Snow ends up in my collar, in my hair, my sleeves, my pants, shoes, hell, even in my underwear. By the time we’re coming to a halt against the porch with a hard thud, I’m so tired, I can’t wrestle him off anymore. 

“Okay, you big ape!” I give in, huffing and puffing. “You win, but only on stamina, damnit!”

He instantly flops down next to me, panting. “It’s about time. I’m too old for this shit.”

I giggle, and turn my head to look at him. He has his eyes closed, a smile curled around his lips, his hair adorably tousled, his chest heaving, and his breath clearly visible as vanishing, white clouds after each puff. I really want to kiss him right now. I don’t, of course. Even if *he* wanted to, which he doesn’t, I wouldn’t know how. 

The thought makes my skin flip on again, and I groan in frustration.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I grunt, scowling. 

He gets up, sits on the porch, and shakes the show out of his hair. 

I ignore him, telling myself there has been enough honesty to last a few more days. I’m *not* gonna tell him that I wanted to kiss him. I’m not. 

But he doesn’t give up this time. “What?”

Grrr. Why does he choose to prod *now*?

“Nothing,” I repeat, knowing full well that I’m being childish again. I stand up, wipe my backside, hop up on the railing, and I growl at my own frustration once again. “I was just thinking… if we were different people, it would’ve have been a good moment to kiss.”

There. There you have it. I hope you’re happy now. 

He’s silent. Maybe he’s waiting for more, or maybe he just doesn’t like my answer. Well, tough. He shouldn’t have pushed. 

Spilling it all, I add, “My skin turned on again right that moment.”

He stands up and spits, “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

Great. He got it all wrong. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, stupid,” I retort, annoyed by the thought that he probably thinks he disgusts me. It reminds me of the first time we met. I got an offended ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, kid’ after I flinched away when he wanted to put my hands on the heater. I already knew that he wouldn’t. My gut had told me. 

Sighing, I explain, “You’re right that my skin reacts when I’m nervous or scared, but I’m not scared of *you*. Never was, and I probably never will be. It didn’t flip on when I thought about you. It reacted when I realized I don’t know how to be someone who kisses other people. I’m twenty-five, but I’ve never been kissed properly.”

A very uncomfortable, loud silence follows. It actually makes my ears ring. 

Finally, he responds, “You said you could control it while you were with Drake.”

Snorting, I roll my eyes. “He was scared shitless. I’d kissed him once when I still had my mutation. It ended pretty badly, so he never had the desire to experiment some more. Control or no control.”

More silence. It suddenly pisses me off. 

I jump off the railing, turn to look at him, and when I see his compassionate expression, my angers instantly fades. I feel like crying instead. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” I grumble. “I’m no charity case.”

He walks up to me, and corners me against the railing. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Marie, look at me.”

My name. This is the first time he has used my name again. Now I really want to curl up and bawl my eyes out.

“I can’t,” I whimper, mulishly staring at his chest. “If I do, I’m gonna cry.” 

Two gloved hands grip my shoulders to pull me in a strong embrace. 

“Then cry.”


	50. Chapter 50

So, I cried. I cried a lot. I cried until my eyes were puffy, my chest started to hurt, and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Logan held me, and it felt so very good and safe for the first minutes, but then, suddenly, everything changed.

The reasons I wanted to cry in the first place were obvious. I felt hurt because of everything that had happened. I’d been crying a lot already, but obviously not enough. There was still so much pain left. Pain I couldn’t ignore, and while I tried to deal with it, the old pain somehow changed into new anger. Into unreasonable resentment. Logan was holding me, but it just wasn’t enough. I wanted… more. I wanted everything. 

I knew I’d always loved him, but the moment my initial pain and embarrassment faded, that weird wave of lust washed over me again. It wasn’t an accepted crush, no resigned love, it was lust. The raging, craving, passionate kind. The kind I knew from years ago, from when he was pretty strong inside my head. The kind that made me want to hurt him for being so unreachable. That made me want to touch him, fuck him, break him, lick his blood and taste his tears. I wanted to take him in, body and mind, because I wanted to *be* him. Nothing else seemed close enough. And it was back again. Back in full force. 

But I didn’t do anything, of course. The thoughts scared me to death. I didn’t know how to be that person. The kind of woman who radiates sex and lust and power and control, so I clenched my fists, snuggled up a bit more, gritted my teeth, and instead of seeking comfort, I was suddenly hiding. 

I hated him then. I hated the way his chin rested on top of my head, hated the way his arms were locked around my waist, hated his scent, his heartbeat, his calm, and his protectiveness. I hated everything about him, because he was holding me, comforting me, slipping into his fraternally-protective role so easily, but I knew I couldn’t play the silly kid anymore. Didn’t *want* to play the silly kid role any more. Problem was - I didn’t know how to behave differently around him. 

Long after my tears were gone, we were still standing there. Logan had turned us around so he was leaning against the railing, and I was tiredly leaning in, brooding, feeling, wanting. Knowing I had to do something – anything - because his arms around me felt so good, but it just wasn’t right. It just wasn’t enough, but I also knew that I wasn’t ready for something else. I couldn’t *be* someone else, and I had no idea what to expect from him either. He couldn’t possibly still love me like he’d done after all those years. I’d hurt him too much.

His stomach growled. It reminded me that it had been a while since our last meal. It started to become dark, and I tried to wipe my face the best I could. All this time we’d been quiet, shivering a bit, but quiet. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to let go either, because I was afraid he’d see the change in me. Ashamed for the intensity of my emotions, even though he might’ve smelled them on me anyway.

We untangled pretty much at the same time, and I mumbled a frustratingly-annoyed ‘thanks’ and something about the sauna. I kept my gaze fixed on my boots, and I had a hunch he wanted to tell me something, but I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t. I was sick and tired of it all. Sick and tired of him, of myself, of the situation. I needed space. I needed time alone, because I felt weak. It would’ve been so easy to just be dependent again. To let him take care of me. To look up at him, put him on a pedestal and let him be my hero, but that was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. 

So, after taking my time in the sauna, I managed to procrastinate a little while longer by occupying the bathroom. I had to come out eventually, though. Dinner was made, but Logan was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t hear him around the house, and I didn’t go out to check. It was dark and cold. I just wanted to be left alone. I was upset, and I knew the gnawing anger inside of me was irrational and unreasonable. He’d done exactly what I’d asked, after all. He was being my friend. 

I went to bed early, never heard him come back, but when I woke up this morning, breakfast was prepared. He’s outside, shoveling snow again. I still feel irritated, stil feel like a moping child, and for some reason that pisses me off even more. 

I walk up to the window, and when he looks up and catches me glaring at him, I actually have to suppress the urge to stick out my tongue. 

It makes me wonder, if I really don’t want to be a silly kid anymore, then why can’t I just stop acting like one?

* * *

Nightmare. He’s having a nightmare. 

I just came back from the valley where I’d been trying to shake off the dark mood by doing some shopping and talking to Tyee, and I found Logan taking an afternoon nap on the couch. 

He’s twitching, his breathing is erratic, the pillow discarded on the floor. I can’t stand the thought that he might be reliving horrors from the past, so I shrug off my coat but keep my gloves on. 

“Logan.”

I know he doesn’t want me to wake him, but with my new powers he can’t harm me anymore. I’m not afraid. I never was. 

Gently shaking his shoulder, I call him again. “Logan, wake up.”

A howl, a jolt, the distinct sound of unsheathing claws, followed by a flash of silver scraping my side. I think I scream, too, trying to avoid the swing of his arm, but I’m not fast enough. Even though I know I’m unharmed, I still expect to feel pain, to see blood. I expect to struggle for breath and to relive *that* moment again.

But nothing happens.

Logan’s staring up at me, only half awake, sitting on the couch still, but reality’s sinking in fast. The irate grimace changes into horrified shock, and I want to tell him that I’m okay. I want to reach out and show him that I’m fine, but my body doesn’t cooperate. It’s like it still has to be convinced that it really *is* uninjured this time. 

For a moment I watch those beautiful, dark lashes while he blinks, but then he roughly turns me a quarter, and yanks up my shredded clothes to inspect the damage. 

“I’m fine,” I manage to tell him, finally finding my voice. His hands are ungloved, and – of course – my skin flipped on the moment the blades grazed it, so I quickly take over and hold up the hem of my shirt and sweater myself. “See? Not a scratch.”

Skeptical, hazel eyes stare at the exposed skin. “Did I miss?”

“No,” I answer, smiling at his tone. He sounds relieved, but I think I also heard a bit of an offended disbelief. “Told you, I’m invulnerable. Even to adamantium.”

Although I didn’t really know for sure until now.

A few more seconds of silent gazing, then he closes his eyes, releases a shaky breath, and suddenly pulls me close to press his face against my belly. 

“Goddamnit,” he hisses between clenched teeth. “What were you thinking?”

Nothing. If I had been thinking anything at all, I’ve forgotten it now. 

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, dazed by the way he suddenly clings on me, keeping me caged in a frantic embrace. “I had to wake you.”

I’m aware of my trembling legs, and my arms start moving on their own. I cradle the back of his head, holding him close, and wonder if maybe I died anyway. I regret the gloves now. I can finally rake my fingers through his hair, but I can’t feel anything. The inability to touch never hurt as much as it does now, leaving an aching void inside my chest. 

Trying to keep my tone normal, I ask, “Was this the first nightmare since you’ve been here?”

He doesn’t move, but he answers, “I don’t sleep much.”

Ah. Figures. That’s why he’s up and gone every morning. 

“Are you staying awake because of me?”

An exhausted sigh, but he seems to force himself to pull back. “I used to have them every night. I didn’t want --” he stops and looks at the shredded rags I once called a sweater. “I found out some things over the years. The nightmares… they just pile up.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him gently, sitting down next to him. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

I observe him, trying to figure out what he wants me to do, but he’s staring at the floor now. Should I leave him alone? Should I give him a hug? I haven’t been the best company lately. Maybe he’s fed up with me. 

“I know I’ve been an annoying snot these last few days. Sorry for that.”

“You’re not here to be social.”

It’s true, but still. I almost can’t believe that he’s this reasonable. Then again, if there’s someone who understands the urge to be alone and brood, it’s him. 

I uncertainly caress his back a bit. “Thanks.”

A glance, a tired half-smile, and then he reaches out and puts his arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, too. For trying to kill you. Again.”

It makes me chuckle. 

He shifts a bit, getting more comfortable, and he moves his arm over the couch so that his hand ends up loosely – safely - on my shoulder. Still, it seems like he wants to me stay close, so I pull up my legs, and shamelessly rub my cheek over the flannel of his shirt, enjoying the contact. This time he’s not trying to comfort me – this time he *wants* to hold me. In my book, that makes a world of difference.

I can feel him nuzzling my hair, and I close my eyes while I try to get a grip on my fluttering heart. Oh, this feels nice. This feels… right. 

When he talks, I can hear his deep voice resonating in his chest. “Don’t you ever, *ever* wake me again.”

“I’m not gonna promise you anything. I can’t stand seeing you so… so…”

Helpless? Vulnerable? Terrified? I don’t think he wants to hear that, so I just don’t finish my sentence. 

Silence. 

I can hear his heart - calm, steady, powerful beats. When I concentrate on mine, I feel that it’s beating almost twice as fast. 

“I found a copy of Stryker’s files,” he suddenly tells me, actually startling me a bit. 

I have to be careful now. I don’t want to say something stupid and make him shut up again. 

“Where? When?”

“We raided one of the Brotherhood’s warehouses. Chuck thought we’d find Erik’s location.”

“Did you?”

“No, just the files. Mine, and some others.”

“Did you find something useful?”

A pause. 

“Dunno. It’s… fucked up. It said that some of my memories are implants. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.” 

I can’t help but look up now. “Oh, but that’s… that’s… horrible.”

“Yeah,” he agrees resignedly. “Remember those phone calls to Chuck about my past? I think it was Mystique.”

“What? Why would *she* want to help you?”

Snorting, he spits, “I don’t think she wanted to help. Bitch.”

“Oookay. You lost me.”

Looking away, he explains a bit grudgingly, “The night in the woods, before Alkali Lake, she came into my tent. Told me she could be anyone I wanted.”

I stare at him in shock. “Oh, wow. That’s… creepy in a really kinky kind of way. What did you do?”

“Let’s just say she doesn’t take rejection well.”

“She’s insane.”

I suddenly remember the conversation at the roadside restaurant again. We went riding our bikes and ended up drenched by the rain. He told me he got another lead, but he couldn’t chase it because he had to protect Charles. If it was Mystique, and if she was deliberately playing with his feelings, she must’ve led him to another bad memory.

“That last clue you told me about, the one when the professor was threatened, did you find out what it was about?”

He watches my gloved hands, and absently confirms my question. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess, another woman?”

Looking around, he seems to remember something, and stands up. “Yeah. Kayla.”

“Is she okay?”

Gloves. He’s searching for his gloves. 

“Dead,” he unemotionally tells me, pulling on a leather pair. “Murdered. I think.”

Oh, no. I didn’t want to hear that. It’s so unfair. I don’t even know what to say. ‘Sorry’ just doesn’t seem to cut it. 

He doesn’t seem to be waiting for my sympathy, though. Instead, he sits down next to me again. “You remember the first time we ran into Creed?” he asks, grabbing my hands and peeling off the fabric with the same determination he showed me a few nights before. “I smelled the sonuvabitch. Reacted on instinct. I thought that I didn’t know him back then, but his scent triggered a sense of danger. I think *he* killed her, but I’m not sure.”

I can’t believe all this. Is everyone linked to each other? Is this whole mutant-world one big, fake, soap opera?

“God, I’m glad he’s dead,” I grunt, quite upset about all the injustice in his life.

As soon as my gloves are gone, he pulls me close again. “Creed’s a tough motherfucker. He’s got healing, too. I found out we’ve got quite a history together. He’ll pop up sooner or later. He always does. Might take him a few decades, but he’s never far away.”

Well, great. Isn’t that reassuring?

* * *

Christmas.

I’m sitting on the railing of the porch again, nursing a hot cup of cocoa between my hands, thinking about the past few days. Logan’s inside, preparing dinner already. He didn’t want my help, so I decided to go outside and enjoy daylight for as long as I can. 

I guess I can describe the control of my skin as erratic at best lately. My skin randomly flips on and off, whether Logan is around or not. Whether he touches me or not. And he’s been touching me quite a lot after he’d pulled me close on the couch. It’s nothing major - a ruffle through my hair, a harmless brush of bodies, a playful punch after I poke him first - I found out he’s quite ticklish, but last night, we actually snuggled up a bit on the couch to watch a movie on my laptop. 

It was… cozy. Excitingly, nervously cozy. I had my hand on his thigh again, and I spent the whole movie pondering whether I should move my fingers or not. Caressing or just touching, it’s a fine line, but it’s a big deal. If he had moved his hand, caressed my arm first, maybe I would’ve found the courage. But he didn’t, and so I didn’t either. I’m still regretting it. 

The gloves he put on earlier, I found out they were the ones I gave him for Christmas six years ago. I didn’t recognize them at first because they’re well-worn. I didn’t say anything, but knowing he’d used them all those years made me feel absurdly grateful. I then wondered if he still had his half of the scarf I gave him, but I didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know if I really wanted to know the answer, but it got me thinking.

Maybe I’ve been looking for the wrong clues all this time. Logan isn’t the kind of man who’d give me his heart in the shape of a rose – iced or not, and oh, do I get the irony. Logan gives so much of *himself*. He shares his home, his most private shelter, and he’s willing to leave for as long as I need it. He grudgingly shares his own insecurities, just because he doesn’t want me to think that there is something wrong with *me*. And then there’s his bike as well.

All this time I’ve been waiting for something, something that would spell out his feelings, something I would recognize, but maybe I have what I’ve wanted all along. All I have to do now is change and be who I want to be. Who I need to be. I have to stop being Marie, and become Rogue again. But that’s easier said than done. I can’t seem to break out of this ingrained pattern. I’m the silly kid, and he’s the unreachable hero. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, and I almost tumble off the railing at the sound of his voice because I didnt hear the door. 

“Nothing,” I giggle breathlessly. “Just thinking.”

He walks up next to me, leans down on his forearms on the railing, and stares at the silly snowman I made yesterday. 

“About what?”

“About… a lot of things. About my skin. About you, and about last night. Before that, I thought about my parents. About how I tried so hard to prove to them that I would’ve been worth it if they’d kept me, and while I was fighting for my past, I lost everyone and everything that mattered in the present. Even myself.”

His answer is some sort of a non-committal grunt, while he lights up a cigar. 

I smile, wrap an arm around his bulky form and semi-carelessly plant a smooch on the side of his head. “Sorry. You didn’t want to hear that, did you? It’s not a happy subject.”

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked,” he grumbles, not responding to my familiarity, but not pulling away either.

“True,” I admit, keeping my arm exactly where it is. “I was also thinking about how I’ve been living without my folks for almost nine years now, and all these years I managed just fine without them. I always figured I’d end up back home one way or the other, but I’m twenty-five now. I’m supposed to live my life on my own. It’s a scary thought, but at the same time, it’s a huge relief as well.”

He shuffles a bit closer, and his shoulder is grazing my side. I take a sip of my cocoa to hide my absurd happiness. I don’t want to make a big deal out of all this, but maybe our relationship is already changing on its own. I don’t think he’d like it if I mark every careful attempt to seek physical contact. 

“I don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations anymore,” I pick up my monologue. “I don’t have to earn anyone’s love, because the people who are here, in *this* life, are the ones who like me for who I am, and the thought is… liberating.”

Still no real answer, just a puff of smoke and a nod. 

“So… then I was thinking about where to go from here. Will there be a place for me in New York? Do I really want to live with the people who’ve accepted me all along, or will it be yet another way to seek shelter? Maybe I should build a whole new life on my own, but where? And what about a job? Do I want to be a teacher and an X-Man? Or maybe I should go back to an office job again?”

I sigh, and shrug one shoulder, caressing his back. 

“Anyway, those kinda things. I don’t have all the answers yet, but that’s okay. I’m pretty sure things will work out eventually.”

More silence. 

Okay. I wasn’t expecting a ‘you can stay here with me forever’, but *some* response would’ve been nice. 

“What about you?” I try, letting him go and nursing the mug in both hands again. “What are your future plans?”

Another puff. “Don’t have any.”

“Don’t you have a dream? Hopes? A goal?”

He rolls the cigar between his fingers, studying it with more interest than it deserves. “I’ve been searching for my past.”

“You’ve been doing that for the past twenty-three years.”

I don’t get a reply.

His perseverance in seeking answers that will only hurt him more sparks my anger again. He’s making the same mistake as I did. He’s not living in the present. He doesn’t know what he has right now. He doesn’t embrace this day. This minute. This moment. So I’m going to try a different approach. 

“I think you’re using a lack of past as an excuse. You’re using it to keep everyone at bay. To keep you *safe*.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, it is. It’s limiting,” I tell him, more passionately then I intended. “You’re denying yourself so many things. So many *good* things.”

A snort. “Like what?”

Suddenly a bit scared, I answer, “Things like… love?”

His answer is a bitter chuckle. “That’s a good thing?” 

Ouch. But I deserved that.

“It can be. With the right person.”

Deafening silence. Painful silence. It actually makes me cringe. 

“Look,” I start quietly, putting down the mug on the railing next to me. “I know… I know I’ve hurt you--”

He jumps up and cuts me off. “I should check the food.”

“Don’t you *dare* walk out on this conversation, you coward!” I hiss furiously, jumping down into the snow and turning around to glower at him. 

“Coward?” he spits, his sudden anger matching mine. “You’re calling *me* a coward? Who ran off with some punk because she couldn’t deal with reality?”

“Oh! That’s low! You were all too happy I did. You left me, too, you know.” Gripping the railing and almost crushing it, I point out, “You said you needed time. You wanted me to let you go, but you said we would stay *friends*.”

“We always were.”

“Friends visit each other! Call. Send postcards. Whatever.”

“That’s what friendship is to you?” he asks, incredulously, pungently, and I’m suddenly not so sure anymore. 

“Yes! Well, sorta. I mean, it’s a sign to show you care. It’s just… damnit! I missed you so much!”

“You had Drake,” he retorts fiercely. “You didn’t need me anymore.”

I can’t believe he means that. I can’t believe he thinks that I *replaced* him. 

“I don’t trade people!” I call out. “I’ll always need you! Just not as some protector. I need you as my friend. Don’t you see?”

Apparently not. He’s scowling at his boots, hands clenched in fists, ready to run.

In a last attempt to convince him of the sincerity of my words, I confess, “Jesus, Logan, I loved you, too!”

Looking up, his eyes almost glowing with rage, he snarls, “I’m glad you’ve moved on.”


	51. Chapter 51

Moved on?! He’s glad I’ve moved on?!

I stare at Logan’s retreating back as he stomps away. Blinking, I close my mouth and wonder what the hell just happened that made him think that I have moved on, because seriously, last time I checked I was still hopelessly, desperately, almost unbearably in love with him. 

Logic sometimes pops up under the most unusual of circumstances, and I suddenly remember dinner. I should check before I go after him. His footsteps are clearly visible in the snow - it’s not like I’ll have to hunt him down or anything. 

Strangely calm, I pick up my mug, walk back into the house, turn off the stove, and check the hearth. Don’t want to come back and find the place on fire. One of us has to be sensible. *He’s* obviously not thinking clearly. If he’s thinking at all. 

Moved on. Há! The luxury. I wish. I should’ve moved on eight fucking years ago.

While I poke the fire, I try to picture the possible scenarios from now on. He might come back, pack his stuff, leave again, and then I’m pretty sure that I’ll never see him again. Or, he might come back, tell *me* to leave, and then I’ll never see him again either. Ugh.

Maybe it’s just time to just tell him everything. Tell him how I feel. What I hope. What I want. I’m not ready for a new relationship, not ready for anything even close to sex because that’ll be such a disappointment, but I’m afraid that if I don’t tell him that I still love him so very much right now, I’m going to lose him forever. I can’t let it happen. Not when everything was going so well. Not when we were getting so *close* again. 

I rummage through my duffel bag to find my half of the green scarf, and I notice that my hands are shaking. I stuff it in one of my pockets, trying to gather my thoughts while I leave the cabin and trudge through the snow. I need to stay calm. I need to think before I speak. My chest and stomach are aching, but it’s all or nothing, and, damnit, ready or not, I go for all.

His footsteps lead to the river. I hope he’s settled down there to think, because if he hasn’t, I have to go back. It’s almost dark, and I didn’t think to bring a lantern. I can’t track him without light. I knew I forgot something. Fuck. 

But… I’m worrying for no reason. I spot him soon enough, sitting on a fallen trunk, staring over the lake. I’m sure he already heard me, but he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. At last he didn’t leave. 

I’ve been rehearsing what I should say, but now I can’t come up with the opening sentence anymore. I’m so nervous, I hardly remember my name. Staring at his back, I keep a small distance between us, and I try to keep my voice calm and even. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t move on.”

I half-expect a snarled ‘fuck off’, so when he doesn’t respond at all, I actually take it as a good sign.

Carefully stepping over the trunk and sitting down next to him, I continue quietly, “I tried, though. All those years when we were close, I tried very hard, and when you were gone, I actually managed to convince myself that I just cared for you as a friend, nothing more. But then you would come back, smile at me, take me out, teach me stuff, and, well, then I was lost all over again. No matter how hard I tried not to, I just kept falling in love with you. Every single time.”

No answer, but he shifts, looking away. 

I’m taking my time, controlling my frenzied thoughts. Remembering how I fought my emotions, feeling the loneliness, the gnawing hunger for his attention when we still lived at Xavier’s. The ridiculous gratitude every time he so much as glanced my way. I was so very pleased with just so little. So very little. Pathetic. Just… pathetic. 

Reaching for my pocket, I close my eyes and force back those pesky tears. “Do you remember this scarf? I still have my half. I kept it in a box in my closet, along with pictures of us and some things I’d collected over the years. Silly things, like one of your lighters, your gift cards, emails, and even a cigar stump.”

The last confession came out with an embarrassed chuckle, and it also unleashes the tears. Wiping them away, I go on, “Every time the pain of missing you became too much, I locked myself in the bedroom, and just surrounded myself with all that stuff. I can’t even count the times I’ve cried in this thing.”

More annoying tears, and again I angrily wipe them away. I don’t want to appear weak. I don’t want him to think he has to comfort me, be careful with me. Now more than ever I need to show him that I’m strong. That I can take care of myself. 

When I try to steal a glimpse of his expression, I see that he’s still keeping his gaze away from me, his hair blocking my view. I have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea if he’s even listening. 

“I’m scared,” I confess. “Scared of everything I feel. Of everything I want. And I think… I think you’re scared, too.”

Again I give him a fleeting look, and I catch him scrubbing a hand over his face. He doesn’t make a sound, but he doesn’t deny it. I take what I can get. 

“It’s okay to feel that way, I guess. All this, these emotions… love… it can be a good thing, but it *is* a scary thing as well. It’s like… it's like jumping off a cliff, and you want to be sure that the landing is going to be okay. But that’s the trouble. You just never know for sure, and… well, someone always has to go first.”

He still does his damnedest best to pretend that I’m not there, so I look down and fidget with the scarf some more.

“I thought that you’d be the one. You’d go first and you’d catch me, but I think… maybe it should be the other way around. Maybe I should go first. I wasn’t ready back then, and I’m not completely ready now, but I’m stronger than before. Much stronger.”

Nervously squeezing the sheer, green fabric into a ball to keep my hands from trembling, I sniffle. “But I’m still scared. And sorry. Sorry that I hurt you, but I want you to know that you hurt me, too. This isn’t about you and your pain only. This is about me as well. I loved you back then, and I still love you now. I just can’t stop it. It’s… I don’t know, it’s too big a part of me, I guess.”

I take a deep, somewhat relieved breath, and smile trough my tears. “So… I think I just jumped.” A small pause, but then I can’t help but snigger, “Of course, it *does* help that I can fly.”

Okay, bad joke. Blame my nerves. 

“Anyway,” I say, standing up again. “That’s all I wanted you to know.” I fold the piece of scarf, and put it on his knee. “I love you, so very much, and I promise that I’ll be there to catch you. You know, if you decide to jump, too.” 

Then I walk away to leave him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Oh, how I was calm, and rational, and *mature*. I was really proud of myself. 

For about three minutes. 

And then I panicked. 

Because, yes, I was calm, and rational, and mature, but what the hell am I supposed to do now? Wait? For how long? For what? To watch Logan come back, pack his stuff, and run like hell? To wave goodbye while I can have one last look at that fine denim-clad ass of his?

Even in the best scenario – the one where he comes back and tells me how right I am and how much he loves me still, even then everything would be fucked up, because then what? Kiss? Screw each other’s brains out? Do all the things I clearly can *not* do? I mean… Aaaargh!

Okay… breathe. Calm down. Calm down. I’m fine. I haven’t thought of anything beyond the jump, but that’s good. If I had, I would’ve chickened out. So… so I jumped. Jumping is good. Jumping is mature. Let’s just take one jump at the time. This was the jump of love. If Logan jumps, too, I can think about the jump of lust. The jump of sex. With my still uncontrollable skin. Right. 

Right.

Aaaaargh!

Damnit! Why is this so… so… hard? So… complicated? Did I do the right thing to get this out in the open? If so, then why am I sitting here, gritting my teeth and wringing my hands? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and so I do both, randomly, hysterically, and in the meantime, I’ve been simply *waiting* for almost two hours without a sign of the bastard, going absolutely *mad* and completely out of my mind.

Maybe… maybe *I* should leave? Maybe he’s waiting for me to finally get the message? Maybe he’s thinking of a gentle way to tell me that I’m an idiot for hoping that someone like him is ever going to waste his time with someone like me? What? What, what, what?! What the *fuck* is he doing right now? Besides probably freezing his ass? What is he *thinking*?

Okay.

Okay. You know what? To hell with all this. I’m not strong. I’m not mature. I give up. I don’t know what to do, what to think. I can’t do this. I just can’t. Screw him, screw my promise to catch him, screw the whole goddamn world. I’m out of here. I’m going to find myself a nice, solid rock to crawl under, and I’m gonna stay there until someone turns it around and finds the fossil of a lovesick, female mutant from way back when. Maybe I’ll even end up in a museum or something. Whatever. 

And of course, just when I grab my duffel bag, the door flings open, the sudden cold causing me to turn around and shiver. 

“Going somewhere?” he asks, his flat tone in such contrast to the tightly coiled anger in his whole demeanor. 

“I don’t know,” I answer meekly, carefully, unable to move because he’s got me trapped in his murderous glare. “Am I?”

He closes the door with such force, it instantly bounces back again, the loud bash making me jump. A few scarily-determined strides is all it takes to cross the cabin to where I’m standing, and I hastily back up, clutching my bag in both hands.

He throws a knot of green fabric on the dinner table, my eyes following it while it untangles in the air, floating down, alive, twisting, before landing on the battered, wooden surface. Then he opens the closet doors and yanks his leather jacket from one of the hangers. I open my mouth to tell him that he doesn’t have to leave, that I’m the one who should go, but before I can utter even a syllable, he hisses, “Shut up.”

So I do what I’m told. 

He has never talked to me like that. Never *looked* at me like that. Like… like he wants to rip me to pieces, and then some. I dare to admit that, yes, I’m a bit scared of him now. He’s beyond livid. Everyone who has a single working brain cell should be afraid. 

Slowly, I lower myself on the chair near the dinner table, still clutching my bag, hoping to be small enough to be invisible. I think my legs are about to give up on me anyway. I guess I’m going to watch him leave after all.

But… he manages to surprise me. He doesn’t shrug off his parka and put on the leather. He reaches for the inner pocket of the jacket, and pulls out another strip of sheer, green material. The other half of my scarf. *His* half.

“You still have it?” I gasp, and I get a furiously-snarled answer. 

“Wasn’t that the deal?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know--”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he interrupts, throwing his half of the scarf on top of mine before annoyingly shrugging off his coat, and flinging it over the couch as he stomps to the kitchen. 

Okay. So… now what?

“Maybe… maybe you should start telling me?” I suggest, suddenly feeling a bit more hopeful. 

I get up, put away my bag, and take a few hesitant steps towards to the kitchen area, but after he gets a beer, he turns around and glares at me some more. 

“I’m so very close to strangling you, stay the *fuck* away from me.”

He’s not the only one who has got a hair-trigger fuse, though. I’ve been waiting for *ages*, going completely insane, and he comes barging in, showing me the scarf, and *then* he tells me to fuck off? Há! I don’t think so! 

Daringly walking up to him, I say, “Why? Because I put things out in the open? It was about time someone did. If you can’t handle it, then that’s *your* problem. Don’t blame *me* for *your* insecurities. Don’t blame *me* for *your* fears. *I* grew up, but *you* obviously never did.”

“I'm glad you got your shit together,” he spits. “But don’t think you know *me* and all my shit, too. I’ve got my own fucking problems, and they're not all about you.”

“Right now, *my* shit is more important than yours. This is *my* life, damnit. If I hadn’t brought this up, *nothing* would’ve have happened. And you know what? *I* can’t live with that anymore.”

He thrusts his beer can down with a snap. “You want me to jump into some sort of a relationship because, *suddenly*, *you* feel ready? Well, *fuck* you. I’m out.”

“Go ahead. Choose the easy way again. Run.” 

“Last time I checked, *you* were the one running,” he retorts just as heatedly, taking a few steps closer. 

I refuse to back up. “I’m here *now*, aren’t I? I’m *fighting*, not running. Remember our talk in the sauna? You said you’d fight, too, if you really wanted something. That was *bullshit*. You never did. Not for me.” 

“When should I have fought for you, huh? When you were moving to Boston with that pathetic piece of shit? Or maybe when you were *marrying* him?”

Tears are stinging my eyes, but I force them back. No pain allowed. Only anger. 

“Oh, that’s real tough, hiding behind Bobby. You would’ve fucked Jean right in front of Scott if she had been willing. You were willing to fight for Jean, but you never fought for *me* like that. You *never* fought for me like *that*.”

And then things happen so fast, I never even see him move. I bang the back of my head against the wall, my feet helplessly dangling in the air. His hands are clenching my arms so hard it hurts, and his nose is almost touching mine while he keeps me pinned. 

“I never *fought* for Jeannie, damn you. I wanted to *fuck* her. I gave you everything I had, but you were still a goddamn *kid*.” 

“More bullshit,” I hiss. “I turned eighteen, nineteen, and then twenty. By the time I finally found out what you felt, at Liberty Island, it was too late. Did you really think I’d dump Bobby just like that? After being with him for almost *three* years? Did you really think I’d be that heartless? You were *relieved* that I was with him. *Relieved*. I *felt* it.”

His fingers almost crush my upper arms. I don’t even feel my hands anymore. I’m strong enough to push him away, but I don’t want this to end up in a physical fight. I can’t stop the words from tumbling out, though. I can’t stop this float of *pain* anymore. 

Unwaveringly staring back into those fuming, hazel eyes, I continue my verbal attack. “I throw myself at your feet all the time, damnit. Do you like to see me like this? This desperate? Does it feel good to pick me up afterwards? To be *needed*? Does it add some meaning to that *miserable* existence you call a *life*?” 

The moment that last sentence leaves my mouth, I expect him to strangle me for real. We stare at each other, waiting, feeling, hating. The penetrating fury in his eyes, the menacing glare – I count the seconds before he really explodes, but… it never comes. In fact, his expression gradually changes into desperate comprehension. His anger fades away. I can feel it in the grip on my arms. 

“No.” He swallows. “I *hate* it.”

I want to hold on to my rage, to the *safe* rage, but it’s gone, too. Just like that. It’s gone, and I’m suddenly left weak, crying again. “Then why do you let me fall?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why can’t you just catch me?” 

He struggles for an answer. I can see him fight an inner battle, trembling, despairing, resenting. And he’s losing. 

“Because… I don’t know how,” he admits, lowering his head to rest it on my shoulder. To hide. 

But it leaves me unaffected. 

For some reason I can’t dig up a shred of empathy. I don’t even care about myself anymore. About all the *hurt* I put out there. I’m worn out and close my eyes. I give up, and in a strange, psychedelic way, I’m glad. I tried. I really tried. I failed, but I gave it all, and damnit, I *tried*.

I don’t register much outside my own overload of emotions. I’m being carried, but I don’t open my eyes, don’t want to see, don’t want to *feel* anymore. I’m full with emptiness, numbed by too much pain, and I like it. There isn’t anything to guard anymore. No dignity to defend, no pain to protect, no shame to cover. I’m turned inside out. Even my skin seems to have given up. It’s ‘off’ now. 

I can’t make myself care about that either. I’m… done.

* * *

It seems to take forever to crawl back to the world as I know it. The first thing I register is something tickling my face. Hair. Is it mine? It smells different. Then… warmth. Comforting warmth. Human warmth. Logan’s. I’m slumped on his lap, wrapped in his parka, my head resting on his shoulder. It’s his hair. His hair is tickling my nose. I move a little, peek over his shoulder. 

“Door’s open,” I mumble, fuzzily pragmatic in his flannel shirt, trying to recall what happened. 

I think he carried me over here. He rocked me in his arms for a while, and… well, I guess I fell asleep?

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he answers just as quietly, his voice all deep and hoarse, and he’s shifting a bit to get more comfortable. 

Trying to gain some more sensible thoughts, I close my eyes and tiredly lean in again. “I’m awake now.”

“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t move. 

Neither do I. 

The silence doesn’t feel loaded anymore. It’s a resigned, exhausted quietness. An awaiting calm after one hell of a fight. Is this the end? Our goodbye? Or is this a new beginning? I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t even care much. 

“Are we done fighting?” I ask, and I hope we are. I’m too tired.

“Don’t know. Are you?”

I actually take my time to think about it. I think… I forgot what we were arguing about. Did we even have a point? Weren’t we just trying to hurt each other with our own pain? Blame each other for the things we weren’t ready for ourselves? Something like that. 

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

It stays quiet for a while, and I wonder, do we have a winner? Or are we both losers? 

Life’s slowly seeping back into me. More emotions. It’s weird, but everything seems so easy now. So easy to just *be*. 

Oddly calm, I ask, “Are we still friends?”

“Yeah.”

Okay. Good answer. It was confident. And strong. I believe that. Now, let’s take it one step further. Just to make things clear.

“Do you think… we could be more? More than friends? You know, some day?”

“We already are.”

Despite my exhaustion, I force myself to sit up straight and suspiciously narrow my eyes at him. “I obviously missed something.”

He confidently meets my gaze and holds it. “You slept. I jumped.”

I blink. “But… why?”

Up goes the eyebrow. It expresses the word ‘duh!’ quite efficiently. 

Completely thrown for a loop, I stammer, “But… but I wasn’t there to catch you.”

“Turns out the cliff wasn’t that deep.” Then, faintly smiling, he adds, “Of course, it does help that I heal.”

What the… that’s *my* joke. My stupid, nervous joke from earlier today.

I stare, not knowing whether to hug or slap him. “Funny.” 

He smirks, and I can’t help but smile back. 

For a few seconds that’s all we do. Smiling, staring, being. I want to kiss him, but then, all of a sudden, my skin reacts, flipping ‘on’. Hiding my bare hands in the sleeves of my sweater, I can’t help but look away. Shyly. Feeling so very inadequate. So very *stupid* again.

He sees it, though. He always does. “What?”

“My skin,” I mumble. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not ready. For the next step. The next jump. For… *that*.”

“There’s nothing wrong with staying here for a while,” he says casually, and I can’t help but warily peek from under my bangs. 

“Really?”

A slight nod. Small, encouraging smile. “Yeah.”

I smile, too. Gratefully. Uncertainly. 

He lifts his hand, gently urging me to lean in again, and I gladly do. While he tenderly rubs my back a little, I close my eyes and try to relax. 

One jump at the time, I remind myself. My new mantra. Just… one jump at the time.


	52. Chapter 52

There is something completely weird about starting a relationship without exchanging a single smooch. I just woke up, and I found myself fully clothed in bed. I guess Logan put me here after I fell asleep on his lap again, but I was so exhausted I can’t remember. I hear him outside, and I wonder what to do now. Where do we go from here? And where is ‘here’ exactly?

The more I think about it, the more questions pop up. Are we together now? The whole relationship-for-real thing? He said he jumped, but… what does that mean? Is he mine? Am I his? What the hell *happened* last night? One moment we’re fighting, the next we’re a couple? Really? I know he cares about me, but… just like that? All it took was one good fight? I don’t buy it. I don’t *understand* it. 

I’ve told him I wasn’t ready for more than just a cuddle, but doesn’t that mean that nothing will change? We were already close. The only thing missing was sex. Jumping into something that was there all along isn’t all that hard, is it? Did he know? Did he say that he wouldn’t mind staying at this stage, because he doesn’t *want* more? Is this just another way to pick me up and put me back onto my feet? 

Oh, my God. I can’t bear that thought. Maybe it’s time to get out of bed and have a good talk. A rational one. Without screaming, without hysterics, without all the hurt. A good, pragmatic talk. Find out our position on life’s map. See if we walk the next road together, or go our separate ways. 

Yeah. Sounds good. All I have to do now is find the courage to face him.

* * *

“Morning.” Balancing a mug in each hand, I walk onto the porch, thankful he’s got his back to me while he nonchalantly leans against the railing to smoke a cigar out in the open. 

“Hey,” he says, kind of... gently? 

Does he mean that affectingly, or is it an apology? 

“I made you coffee.”

“Thanks.”

He turns around to take the mug, and I can feel his investigative stare. I sway my leg over the railing to climb on it and pretend to be too busy to notice. He leans next to me, and we both stare straight ahead. Silently. Waiting. 

So… this is us. Being together. Or something.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks eventually, and I delay the answer by trying to take a sip of my way too hot drink. 

“Yeah. You?”

I don’t get an answer, so I guess he didn’t sleep at all. 

Is that good or bad? And what are we doing? Why are we having a conversation about sleep instead of the one that matters?

“You really should get some rest,” I scold him automatically, but my tone is too flat to make an impression. 

“I know,” he answers. “I just… couldn’t.”

Uh-oh. There it is. There is the ‘I’m sorry, kid, but my jump was a mistake’ apology.

“Too much on your mind?” I try, faking casualness, and I really hope my heart will stop hammering. I can’t concentrate on this conversation with the loud thudding in my ears. 

“Yeah.” He looks down at his coffee. “I’m sorry. About last night.”

Oh, God. I knew it. I *knew* it. 

Shivering, I clasp my mug in both hands and think of something to say. I can’t come up with anything better than a hoarse, “Oh.”

“You should’ve pushed me away. You’re strong enough.”

“Oh,” I say again, almost burning my throat when I try to swallow down the sip I just took, completely surprised that he’s referring to his violent behavior instead of his decision to jump into a relationship with me. “That.”

A sideway stare. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I tell him hastily, although I’m not really sure if he wants to know if I’m okay *now*, or if I’m okay from last night. “Great.”

He looks away. Uncomfortably. 

On an impulse I reach out to touch his shoulder. “Hey, I’m fine. Really. I knew you were on the edge. It’s my own fault.”

“No, it’s not,” he retorts, frustrated. “I shouldn’t have--”

“Logan, it’s okay,” I interrupt his self-loathing. “Well, it’s not… but I understand.”

He keeps staring at his mug, and I still don’t really know where the hell we are. What we are. 

“Besides, I’m sorry, too,” I mutter somewhat reluctantly, awkwardly pulling back my arm. “I blamed you for things I wasn’t ready for myself. That was… wrong. I meant it, but it wasn’t really fair.”

A pause, then a quiet, “Ditto.”

His short reply does make me feel better. He understands. He feels the same. It gives me a bit more courage to speak my mind. 

“I guess we were both hurt. And angry. We’ve said some things that were right because we felt it that way, but they were wrong as well. We both weren’t ready back then.”

“Yeah.” 

Okay. I’m glad he agrees, but, damnit, I still don’t know shit. I need to know if he has changed his mind. About this. About us.

Fidgeting a little, I ask semi-casually, “So… you think we’re ready *now*?”

He seems to really think about it, rubbing his forehead, flipping his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. We can try.”

“Gee, that’s hopeful.” 

“Look, I don’t get it, okay?” he explains, suppressed aggravation in his almost-even tone. “Why me? I’m… nothing. I don’t have anything. Can’t offer you anything. Not even a last name.”

“Oh, sugar, you’re so wrong it’s not even funny anymore.” I put down my mug, pull him in front of me to capture him in a good, solid embrace. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You. Just you.”

I can feel his hesitation, but then he puts down his the mug on the railing as well, and he wraps his arms around my waist. “But why? You *know* me.”

I keep him close. “Exactly.”

He rests his head against my shoulder, just like last night, and takes a deep breath. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I can’t help but chuckle, breathing in his scent while I bury my face in his dark, somewhat tangled locks. “I won’t.”

This is so surreal. Am I really holding him? Is he really *mine*? Is that possible? Without exchanging the usually required ‘I love you’s’ and kisses? And why am I wearing thick gloves now that I can play with his hair?

“I can’t believe this,” I say, wanting to savor this moment so I can relive it over and over again after it has faded away. 

“What?”

“This. Us.” 

I really don’t. I never thought it would be like this. Never thought it could be reality. What changed? What happened? Does he feel the same? Does he love me like I love him? He never said so. Never said the words. I know he isn’t the kinda guy who goes all mushy and stuff, but I have to know. I have to be sure, but I don’t want to corner him. I don’t want him to say it to make me feel better. I don’t want a relationship out of pity again. I can’t handle it. Still, I can’t help myself.

“Do you *really* like me like *that*?” I wonder out loud, deeply puzzled, but with a tinge of hope. “Love me?”

He pulls away a little, his expression a half-smile, half-frown. His hands slide down to my hips, but he doesn’t step back. “What? You need proof or something?”

He thinks I’m teasing, but I’m so very serious I can’t stand to look him in the eye when I stammer, “I want to hear you say it. Not now. Not… not because you want to make me feel better. I want you to say it when it *means* something. When you *feel* it.” I put my gloved hand over his heart, and shyly, I meet those gorgeous, questioning eyes. “Here. Inside.”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I feel it all the time.”

Oh, God… how I want to believe that. How I want to accept it as a simple truth and get rid of all these doubts. But I can’t. I can’t surrender. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I want to. I really want to.

“Marie?” Concerned. Weary. A bit guarded, too. “You can touch me. Feel it yourself.”

“No.” I shake my head, ashamed for doubting him, stunned by his offer. “No, I don’t want to hurt you. Just… just say it when it’s too much to keep it in. Okay? I need to hear it. Just once. Someday.”

Because Bobby never did, and I can’t help but feel torn. I’m exhausted still. Confused. And emotional. I don’t know what to think anymore. What to feel. I want to feel *him*. Be with him. Hold him. Let him hold me. Just that. I want to hide for a while. Feel warm. Safe, calm, and loved. 

“Marie.” He tries to catch my gaze, but when I don’t cooperate, he brushes a lock of hair out of my face. “I can’t read your mind. Tell me what’s going on. Talk to me.”

It’s so nice to be touched like that. To have someone who actually reaches out to me instead of the other way around. I don’t ever want to get used to it. I want to remember every stroke, every rub, every brush, because one day, one day it’ll be over. One day he’ll be bored with me. With my skin. My insecurities. My pain. 

Hiding my face in his hair again, I whisper, “I don’t want to be another mission.” Tears are creeping up on me, and I really don’t feel like having another emotional breakdown, so I correct myself hastily. “Never mind. I’m sorry. I’m… an emotional basket case right now. Ignore that one, please.”

Cradling the back of my head, I can feel his breath warming my ear. “Okay. For now. But we’re going to talk about this. Soon.”

Oh, this is nice. I want more of this. Lots and lots and lots. I know I’m almost desperately clinging onto him, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to let him go now that I have him. And now that I think of it, we’re wearing way too many clothes for the likes of me. Damn his thick parka.

“Thanks,” I mumble, suddenly feeling very warm despite that pesky, sharp ache inside my chest. “You know, it’s boxing day today. Wanna snuggle up and watch a movie or something?” I hold my breath, and my insides are doing all sorts of twists and turns. I can almost feel my heartbeat in the tips of my fingers.

“Hmm.” 

I don’t think he actually registers my question. He’s quite busy nuzzling my neck. It makes me giggle a little. 

Smiling, I murmur, “On second thought, I’d rather continue this. By the fire. In something more comfortable.”

Now I’ve got his attention, but not in a good way. He seems to catch himself, and stops quite abruptly. “You sure?”

“Oh, definitely.” I show him my best, most confident grin. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Because he’s mine *now*, and I’m gonna enjoy it while I can.

* * *

“Hey! You’re hogging the couch! What about me?” I stare at the gorgeous man sprawled all over the brown leather. He has kicked off his boots, dropped his belt on the floor, and from the corner of my eye, I notice the buckle reflecting the flames of the fire. We had breakfast, and I just changed into my pj’s and a hooded sweater to start the snuggling part. 

He taps his chest, a small, encouraging smile accompanying one single word that makes me weak in the knees. “Here.”

I eye him suspiciously, willing myself to stand still instead of doing a wildly-insane hap-flappy dance. “Are you sure I’m not too heavy?”

He throws me a somewhat offended stare. “Just because you’re stronger doesn’t make me a wuss, darlin’.”

Smiling, I roll my eyes. “Alright. Sorry I impugned your masculinity.” The thought that I’m about to climb on top of him makes me want to squeal and bounce all over the place, but damnit, I’m twenty-five, I should be able to keep my cool by now. 

I sorta clumsily clamber over his legs, careful not to knee him *there* without being too obvious that I’m extremely aware of exactly *that* part, and he drapes a blanket over us. When he tenderly tucks me in a bit, the sweet gesture makes me all emotional again. 

“Hmm.” I take a shaky breath, and shift a little to get a bit more comfortable. “This is cozy.”

He shifts, too. Readjusts me a bit before wrapping his arms around me. “Okay?”

“Very. You?”

“Yeah.”

The feel of him underneath me, his hard softness, his warmth, his scent, his hands comfortingly caressing my back, the flannel of his shirt against my cheek, his calm, steady heartbeat under my ear - it’s a sense overload. I fit exactly right. Hard parts against soft ones, and the other way around. My body starts to relax on its own, but my mind still races all over the place. 

If I were touchable now, what would be happening? Would his hands travel lower? Feel me up a little? He can’t reach that far now. I’m resting my head on his chest, not on his shoulder. Should I crawl a little higher? See if he tries anything? I don’t think he’s aroused. I don’t feel anything hard against my belly. I try not to be disappointed, but I can’t help it. I scold myself for my expectations, and ask myself if I’d be excited if I knew that I had a huge, poisonous snake crawling all over me. Of course I wouldn’t. I have to stop being silly. 

“My skin is ‘on’,” I inform him, better safe than sorry. I don’t want him to touch me and remember what it’s like to have your life force sucked away. I don’t want him to regret all this just yet. 

The rubbing stops. “I’m not gonna try anything.”

See? I knew it. 

I bite my lip and scowl angrily, but then I can’t help but question my own questions again. 

Why? Why isn’t he going to try anything? Because he doesn’t want to? Didn’t it cross his mind? And if it did, did he reject those thoughts? Does he even consider me desirable? Fuckable? He once said that he’d do me if the circumstances were different, if I were older. I am older now, but I still look the same. Is it a barrier? Does it make him uncomfortable when he looks at me and still sees the teen I was back then? Could be. And I’m not exactly playing the femme fatale here. I’m dressed for a slumber party in Lapland. 

I also told him that I wasn’t ready for sex, but that isn’t exactly right. I’m not scared of sex at all, but I’m scared that he’ll hate my lack of experience. I’m scared that he’ll hate the carefulness. I’m scared I’m going to disappoint him. But maybe he doesn’t know that. Maybe he thinks that I’m afraid of him in general, and he’s trying to reassure me. Maybe he thinks that I don’t want him to touch me. But I do. And yet, I don’t. Because… what if *he* doesn’t? I can’t take that kind of rejection again. I really can’t. 

Ugh. I’m getting extremely tired of myself. Am I too insecure? Or am I being realistic? Is this hope I’m feeling, or am I fooling myself again? If I’m too insecure, then I might be ruining things between us. I don’t want to doubt him. He always touched me without making a fuss, and he did love me once. Really loved me. I was untouchable back then as well. 

But then he ran. 

But so did I.

Crap, crap, double crap. His gloved hands are still motionless on my back, and I’m driving myself completely insane. 

“I’m not afraid of sex,” I blurt out, and I can almost hear his mind doing overtime to understand my seemingly random and totally contradictory information. Since I’m quite successful in rambling myself into confusion, I don’t expect him to fully understand after just one sentence, so I lift up my head to look at him. “I’m not. I might have given you the wrong impression, but I’m not afraid of sex or anything intimate at all. I’m afraid that if we’re going to… you know, do stuff while my skin is still ‘on’, I’m going to disappoint you.”

There. That’s it. That’s better. That’s what I meant when I said that I wasn’t ready. 

He blinks, stares back, the puzzlement clearly readable on his handsome face. 

I snuggle up again. Explain some more. “The clothing, the carefulness, it’s all such a fuss. I’m afraid that you’ll grow tired of it, and then things will become like they were with Bobby.”

“I know what I’m getting into,” he says, but I’m not listening. I don’t allow myself to listen. I don’t allow myself to believe. Instead, I’m going to lay down the rules. 

“As long as I can’t control my skin, you can’t kiss me, and I don’t like to be touched without being kissed. It makes me feel… cheap.” 

Like a whore. Like Bobby’s little pet-whore he didn’t even want for free. 

“We can try different ways,” he tries, and his hands start to move again. “Use a scarf or something.”

“No. I can’t go through that again. I can’t let myself believe that you will accept the limitations, because one day you won’t.” 

He wants to interrupt me, but I won’t let him. 

“One day you’re gonna tell me that you hated it all along, and that you’d rather jerk off in the shower than be anywhere near me like that. I can’t stand that thought. I really can’t.”

Now he’s quiet, and so am I. He’s frustrated, though. I can feel the tension in his entire body, in his breathing, even in his heartbeat. I tell myself that he doesn’t argue with me because he knows it’s true. 

Willing my tone to stay even, I tell him quietly, “I want to wait until my control is back. I don’t want to disappoint you, too. I’m gonna try really hard, but until then, I’m going to be a bit selfish, I guess. I want this moment of being together without regrets to last a bit longer.”

“That goddamn sonuvabitch,” he hisses in my hair, and again I’m glad Bobby isn’t around. 

“This isn’t his fault. When he and I had a talk, he never meant any harm. He was being honest. It hurts just the same, but he never intentionally tried to make me feel bad. He’s not the bad guy, Logan. There’s no one to blame for all this. It just… happened.”

Silence is golden, and he knows, even though the knowledge pisses him off anyway. 

Sighing, I play with a button of his shirt. “I don’t want to feel this way. This confused. And vulnerable. But I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t consciously, but I don’t want to see you unhappy. And you will be unhappy, because I can’t give you what you need right now.”

“Damnit, Marie--”

“I’m trying to be realistic here,” I snap, glaring. “Bobby and I… he never said he loved me. Never. And he didn’t like me sexually. He wasn’t attracted to me at all.” Hearing those words, my heart crumbles again. I avert my eyes, and mutter, “Well, he was, at first, but then we kissed, and he developed a healthy dose of carefulness around me. It’s just a matter of time before you--”

“I already know what your skin can do, and I’m *here*, aren’t I?”

I shrug, not knowing how to argue with his logic. Hoping he’s right, doubting he is. “Yeah. For now.”

He puts a gloved hand under my chin and forces me to look at him. “You listen to me. I *know* what I’m getting into. Your skin had me down twice, and I still don’t give a damn. Got that?”

“But--”

“Shut up. You say you’re not scared of me - I’m not scared of you. You’ve been talking until my ears hurt to get me into this. Don’t back out on me now.”

“I’m not. All I’m saying is--”

“Stop doubting me.”

I swallow, and try to escape those intense eyes. “I’m trying. I want to believe you. I really do.”

“Try hander.”

He means it. He’s seriously upset that I don’t believe his intentions, but how can I not after everything that has happened? I fell so hard, I don’t ever want to fall like that again. 

“Okay,” I give in, but as soon as I do, I’m pissed that he’s trapped me. I try to tiptoe around him when it comes to his insecurities, but he simply forces me to overcome my fears in just one day. It’s not fair. 

He lets go, wraps his arms around me again, and I rest my cheek on his chest. 

“Fine,” I spit, knowing full well that I’m being childish. “I’ll surrender. Simply hand over the remains of my heart to just another guy who *also* never said that he loves me. No big deal.”

Oh, I’m such a bitch. But that’s his fault. He makes me say those things. Still, I can’t stand myself for being like this. He may not understand me, but I *do* understand him, and I know he hates me right now. Just like I hate him. A little. 

I wait. And wait. And wait some more, but he doesn’t come up with a reply, doesn’t move. He breathes, his heart keeps beating, but that’s it. 

Damnit. Why are we doing this? Why can’t we just hold hands and happily skip through the snow or something? Why does it always have to be this complicated? 

Half-heartedly, I grumble, “I’m sorry. I’m really trying here. I know I shouldn’t blame you for Bobby’s mistakes, but try to understand my point of view, damnit. I’m still recovering.”

He sighs, muttering, “You’re a pain in the ass, kid.”

It’s the first time he has called me ‘kid’ after his decision to be together, and for some reason it amuses me. He’s right. I really am acting like one. 

“I know, but you can’t resist me,” I tease, nuzzling his chest. “Just like I can’t resist you.”

A gentle squeeze and a kiss on top of my head is his answer, and suddenly everything is fine again. We’re weird like that. 

I guess we’re both a bit unstable. Maybe he doubts me as much as I doubt him. Maybe he loves me as much as I love him. And I did hurt him in the past, just like he hurt me, so… yeah. Probably. Maybe.

Smiling, I ask, “Does this relationship-stuff mean that I can touch your hair now?”

“You can touch anything you want.”

I look up, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a hint?”

He smiles, too, but his eyes reveal a passionate sincerity. “No. It’s a fact.”

I swallow, my lips suddenly dry, and when I lick to moisture them, his gaze drops down to my mouth and stays there, longingly. It gives me immense satisfaction.

The ego-boost lasts for about two seconds, because then I realize that he can stare as much as he wants, nothing’s going to happen. I don’t think I’ve hated my skin as much as I do now. How can I believe that he doesn’t care, while I feel so horribly incompetent and worthless? 

His hand moves to my face, cups my cheek, and I want to withdraw and tell him that he can’t kiss me. He doesn’t guide me closer, though. Instead, his gloved thumb caresses my lips. 

The leather is soft. And warm. 

“Let me taste you,” he says, and my stomach flips. 

“How?”

“Lick.”

I do. 

I lick the worn leather, and then he follows the curve of my lips while I close my eyes, concentrating, feeling, experiencing. Suddenly his hand leaves my face, but before I can start a protest, it’s back. This time, the leather tastes like him. He licked it, too. 

Hot, yearning want pulses through my veins, and I courageously open my eyes to look at him while I slowly lick his thumb again. His heated stare doesn’t falter, and he slides over my lips once more. Slightly opening my mouth, I hope he gets the invitation, and when his thumb darts in, I suck it, keeping my eyes locked with his. 

He shifts. No soft spot against my belly anymore. It’s definitely getting hard now. 

It makes me incredibly smug, and I feel more confident as I slowly swirl my tongue around the leather, teasingly, daringly. He follows the rhythm, and tenderly explores my mouth, deeper, retreating, wetting my lips before sliding back in again. I close my eyes for a second, surrender to this moment, and this feeling. The smoldering sensuality is foreign to me, the calm, soothing intimacy unknown. He caresses my lips one more time, wetting them with my own saliva, and then he sucks the leather himself to taste more of me. 

“Wow,” I whisper, breathlessly, mesmerized, wondering if he likes the taste. “Please, tell me you kiss like that as well.”

His eyes dart away for a split second, but then he smiles, sadly, caressing my cheek with such tenderness I instantly forget all my doubts about his feelings. “That’s for you to judge eventually.”

“I want to.”

“I know. Me, too.”

I can’t help but seek confirmation. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He lightly bucks his hips and presses his erection against my belly, and with a somewhat apologetic tone, he asks, “Don’t you feel it?”

I’m so warm, my cheeks probably must be crimson by now. Smiling, I coyly look away despite the fact that I gave his thumb a blowjob just a minute ago. “Yeah.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good.” I glance over and grin. “Definitely good. Although I doubt it is as good for you as it is for me. Want me to move?”

He grimaces as he shifts again. “No. It’s the jeans. They’re tight.”

“Sinfully tight,” I agree, and he smirks back boyishly. Happily. Carelessly. If I wasn’t so disgustingly in love with him already, I’d be now. 

“You’re so handsome,” I murmur, tracing his eyebrow with the tip of my finger, awestruck by his looks. “I can stare at you for ages.”

The smirk instantly fades, replaced by guarded sorrow. “You’re probably gonna see this mug that long.”

“I hope so.”

We stare at each other, searching, for… what? Sincerity? Love? It’s there. It’s clearly there. For now. Still, I relish the feeling of his hands relaxingly stroking my back, my arms, my sides. He seems to like it as well. That erection is kind of persistent. 

Snuggling up again, I break the silence first. “I don’t want to lose you.”

It was meant as a fact, but it accidentally comes out as a plea and it makes me cringe. 

“You won’t,” he answers confidently, and I desperately want to believe it, but when I close my eyes, I ignore the question dying to come out. 

‘Do you promise?’


	53. Chapter 53

Can I start a new relationship while I’m not done with the previous one? When I’m not done rebuilding myself? Can I pretend that I’m fine when I’m not? Should I? Is it possible to recover while there are so many new problems to worry about? Will I be able to control my skin with all this pressure? Is this all a bit too much, too soon? 

Eyeing the man in the kitchen while I’m still on the couch, I feel so damn guilty for thinking all this. We cuddled pretty much all day, even skipped lunch, and in between I sorta dozed off a little. My body might heal, but my mind doesn’t. I’m so tired I feel like I can sleep for a week. I *want* to sleep for a week, preferably with Logan next me. Holding me. I want to be sure he’ll be there when I wake up. I want him to be there when I’m ready, because right now, I’m not. I need more time. Time alone. 

I never thought he’d jump this soon. Hell, I never thought he’d jump, period. Not really. Not for keeps. The real thing. He’s Logan. He’s supposed to be unreachable. A fantasy. I love him, but I never thought I’d actually *have* him. He belonged in the category where I’d locked the existence of Santa Claus, and wishes on a falling star. You *want* those things to be true, but you *know* they’re not. But here we are. He’s mine, and I don’t have to clue where to take it from here. 

I drag myself off the couch and cross the cabin in a few steps to wrap my arms around his waist from behind. 

“Need help?” I ask, nestling my head between his shoulder blades while my hands seem to have a will of their own. They slide over his stomach, up to his chest, making him stop whatever he was doing. 

“No, I’m good,” he answers, and puts down his knife. 

“I’m going to take a nice, long bath after dinner. That okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“And tomorrow, I might take a trip down the valley.”

“Okay.”

I rub my cheek over the warm flannel. “I think… we should also keep on doing our own things. You know? Things we did before. Before all this.”

He doesn’t move, keeps his bare hands on the counter while mine roam over his torso. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” I congratulate myself for not going dramatic. That was subtle. I’m sure he’s glad to hear all this, because I know he likes his space, too. I don’t want him to think that I need him around all day. 

I let go of him and hop on the counter, just like always when he’s preparing dinner. I habitually want to play with my wedding ring, but it’s gone for months now. I can’t stand that I’m still reaching for it, and it makes me wonder if I’ll ever wear a ring again. That thought makes me question if I even want to. I had the most beautiful, expensive ring, but it turned out to represent something totally fake. I think I’d rather have something more honest. More real. 

Sitting on my hands to keep them from fidgeting, I ask semi-casually, “I’ve been thinking, would you mind if I wear your tags?” 

His direct stare causes my cheeks to color. “You’re gonna keep them this time?”

“Well, yeah.” I try to shrug off the importance of my request. “At least… until you want them back again.”

He picks up the knife, and continues chopping unions for the macaroni and cheese I requested. “I never did.”

My head snaps up to see his eyes, and puzzled by his denial, I trail off, “Not literally, but you said you’d be back for them, so--”

I watch him toweling his hands before walking over to the closet. He opens the door, rummages through his bag, and when he’s found what he was looking for, he reaches for his back pocket to pull on his gloves. 

I don’t get it. He wanted them back, didn’t he? The first time he gave them to me, he said he’d be back for them, right?

“This,” he says, holding up the tags and grabbing my hand to lower the chain. “I said, I’ll be back for *this*.” He closes my fingers around the metal, just like so many years ago, only this time he’s the one wearing gloves, and he gives my hand a little squeeze. 

I don’t really get the difference in the choice of words. This or them? What does it matter? I’m holding his tags, he’s still holding my hand. What’s the meaning of all this?

I look up, and he’s staring at me just like he did back then. Like he’s telling me something. Something important.

Okay, think. His tags – back then, they were everything he had. Everything he was. And he gave them to me. I thought… I thought it was just an attempt to shut me up and run, but maybe… maybe there was more. I held them, while he held me. Cradled my fist in both hands. Kind of protective. Kind of possessive, too. Was he trying to tell me without so many words that he was mine, and that I was his? 

Seriously questioning my sanity, but hoping I’m right, I stammer, “You wanted me to keep them? I didn’t know.” 

He lets go of my hand, shows me a small, somewhat self-conscious smile, and returns to his task again. “It’s okay.”

I think I should close my mouth and stop gaping. “But you didn’t say anything when I returned them, so…”

A humorless chuckle. “Jesus, kid, you couldn’t have picked a lousier time. I was racking my brain, trying to remember Stryker, and we had an audience.”

Oh, fuck. Bobby. And John, but he’s unimportant. I gave back his tags right in front of Bobby. Like I’d made up my mind. Like I didn’t want them. Like I didn’t want *him*. He never knew how much it hurt when I handed them over.

“I *really* didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, easily smoothing things over, but I’m too overwhelmed to let go. 

“But it does. All this time, I thought… it seemed a bit silly to walk around with your tags. That’s why I kept them around my wrist. I didn’t want to embarrass you by making it look like I was your… I don’t know, your girlfriend or something.”

He doesn’t look my way, but I can see that he doesn’t really mind talking about all this as long as he keeps busy. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know either. Not consciously. It took me a while to figure it out.”

“Really? When did you know?”

“The boathouse. First time.”

The night he tried to get drunk? There were four bottles of whiskey, and a very grouchy man hiding in the shadows. Was it because of me? Because I’d slept with Bobby only a week before?

“The night you took my scarf?”

“Yeah.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, “You licked my neck, didn’t you?”

He almost drops the knife when he glances over. “I hoped… you’d be to too drunk to remember.”

“Ha!” I snort. “No way. You bastard, how could you *leave* after that?”

“It was wrong. You were too young, and I had a lead. We weren’t ready.”

His seriousness makes me laugh. “Wrong? You’re kidding me, right? I was legal, and that night was the *best* night I *ever* had.”

And somehow I said something wrong, because his attention is back to the frying pan again. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Every time I think we’re good, something like this happens. What’s going on?

“Is that a hint that I have to set the table?” I poke him in the side, and it brings back the smile again. 

“Yeah. You still have to earn your meal.”

I growl, just for show, and mutter, “Great. Hardly together for a day and already bossing me around. Some boyfriend you are.”

He doesn’t answer, but I see the smile still there. It makes me grin as well, and while I’m getting two plates, I tell myself never to use the word ‘boyfriend’ again. It sounds horribly high school-ish, and I may look like I’m stuck in my teens, but Logan’s clearly doesn’t. 

I wonder what people are going to say when they see us together. I bet Jubes will fall on her knees and praise the Lord, and Kitty’s going to be happy for me, too. I’m pretty sure the rest will be skeptical, though. And then we have Charles. Would he let us live under his roof? Would Logan even want to live in New York again? He seems so much happier here, but he did live there for three years. 

“Hey sugar, why didn’t you ever cook in New York?”

“Chuck didn’t hire me as a chef.”

“I guess.” Hopping back onto my usual spot, I recall our conversations about his secret missions. The missions no one else wanted. I think Logan’s right. Charles didn’t need him as a chef. I think the good ol’ professor wanted a butcher. 

Not really sure what to do with those thoughts, I ask, “Why did you leave Westchester anyway?”

“I was done.” He holds out a spoon of sauce. He made it from scratch instead of using cheese powder. “Here, try this.”

“Done what?” I let him feed me, and it’s… delicious. 

“Being someone I’m not. I’m not one of them,” he calmly explains, looking me in the eye. “They want to save the world. I want the world to leave me alone.”

“Well, good. I don’t really feel like getting stood up after I’ve made you a home-cooked meal while you’re playing superhero in sexy leather.”

It’s fascinating how many emotions he can express with just one eyebrow. This time it’s the eyebrow of irony. “So far *I’m* the one who makes dinner, and *you’re* the one who can fly,” he returns, making me grin. 

“True. I’d make a pretty damn good superhero, don’t you think? I only have to wear my thong over my bodysuit to get me a costume. Oh, and make a cape, of course. You don’t have any spare sheets, do you?”

“You’re not flashing your underwear to anyone.” He kisses the side of my head before picking up the pan. “And a cape will get you choked. Ask ‘Ro.”

Oh, I like this. I *really* like this. Us being normal. Being okay around each other and doing normal things. Things like talking and cooking, and setting the table, and receiving randomly-placed kisses. 

As I sit down and fill my plate, I allow myself to think out loud again. “But it makes you think, doesn’t it? If we’re not going to play superheroes, then what?”

“Don’t worry about money. We’ll manage.”

“Actually, what I meant was… a home. A place to settle.” I glance up, and catch him staring at me, half puzzled, half cautious. “That was sorta where I left off, yesterday. I was thinking about where to live, and what to do after all this, and since we’re… you know, sorta… together now, I thought we should… maybe… decide those things together?”

The intensity of his stare only increases. It makes me want to fidget again, and so I do what I always do when I’m nervous. I ramble.

“Or… you know, we can talk about it later. I guess I’m doing what Cosmo warns about all the time, huh? ‘Don’t put your toothbrush next to his after just one night.’” I show him a goofy grin before looking away, embarrassed to the bone. 

“I don’t read Cosmo,” he answers, carefully, and I just know he’s beating around the bush. Probably to avoid hurting me.

“Never mind. It’s no big deal. We can talk about it later. I mean, before you know it, we’re talking about things like marriage and babies.” I roll my eyes, and try to laugh the awkwardness away. “Pfft. Marriage. So overrated.”

He looks away. “I don’t think about the future much.”

Oh, God. I’m glad he’s subtle, but I can take a hint. Do I feel *stupid*. This is what you get when you let yourself hope.

“Right. Of course.” I stare at my plate and notice it’s getting blurrier by the second. Closing my eyes to prevent the tears from spilling, I force myself to dig up a watery smile. “That’s smart. Without expectations, you won’t get disappointed.”

* * *

One day. We can’t even last one day. One *fucking* day. How horrible. 

Was I so wrong? I thought… maybe. *Maybe* I was good enough. I hoped I was. I *wanted* to be, but maybe he’s just waiting for me to be my peachy self again. Then he’ll tell me to get out, step into his truck, and take off on his own. He’s done it before, and this time, I’m pretty sure he won’t stop to offer me a ride anymore. He’ll leave me standing in the cold. 

God. It’s so hard to cry without making a sound. Without sniffling. Without almost suffocating. We ate in silence, and as soon as I was done, I said I’d do the dishes after taking my bath. I fled into the bathroom and managed to keep the tears at bay until I was surrounded by water myself. I’m trying to breathe through my mouth, but I don’t think I can keep quiet much longer. I think I need a towel to muffle the noise. 

“Marie?” 

Fuck. The knock on the door startles me so much I almost slip, sloshing water over the edge of the tub as I steady myself and sit down with a splash. 

“What?”

“You okay?”

I hastily wipe my cheeks. “Yeah.” I hold my breath, wait, hoping he’ll go away. 

After a few seconds, he says quietly, “You’re crying.”

“Thanks for pointing it out. I hadn’t noticed yet,” I snap, not even bothering to hide it now. 

A sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

There isn’t a lock on the door. He can come in if he wants to. I’m gonna freak out if he does. I’m too vulnerable now. I can’t have him in here. I really can’t.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Ugh. Of course. Men. They don’t even have a fucking clue how *stupid* they are. You know what? I can’t do this. I don’t *want* this. I don’t want to be in this mess anymore. This rollercoaster. It’s making me nauseous. One moment we’re fine, the next there’s drama. I hate it. I was doing so well on my own. I think I want that back again. I want to be *happy*. I don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I’m so fucking *tired* of it. 

“Marie, I don’t--.”

“For God’s sake, fuck off, will you?!” I scream, suddenly too livid to keep it all inside. 

Why is he doing this to me? Why give me hope when there isn’t any? Why can’t he just leave me the fuck alone?

He doesn’t give up, though. I think he rests his head against the door. “Talk to me.”

“No,” I answer obstinately, pulling up my legs and wrapping my arms around them to hide my nudity in case he decides to barge in anyway.

More silence. It’s creeping me out. Is he listening? Waiting for me to cave? In that case, I wish him all the best. I’m not going to. 

After a few good minutes, I hear him move again. I think… damn. Is he sitting down, leaning against the door? Great. That’s all kinds of swell. He’s going to wait me out. Well, fine. Fuck him. Fuck everything. 

“I can’t do this,” I grumble, digging my nails into the flesh of my calves. 

“You mean us?”

“Oh, please,” I snort. “There is no ‘us’ when there isn’t a future.”

I can’t compete with his determination to chase the demons from the past.

“I never said there isn’t one,” he retorts, his sudden anger matching mine. “I said--” 

He stops, but I’m listening. I can’t help it. I guess I’m so desperate I’m willing to clutch at straws. I’m pathetic. 

“Look,” he continues eventually, calmer. “I’ve been living in the past for so long, the future, for me, is something… empty. Time is irrelevant. I live, day by day, because every possible future I had--”

He stops again, but I understand. 

Every possible future he had, turned out to be fake. Or died. Or simply walked away with someone else. 

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. 

It’s one thing to know that you’re wrong, it’s another to actually admit it. 

Closing my eyes, I bite my lower lip and curse those damn tears sliding down my cheeks again. I don’t want to cry anymore. I’m getting extremely fed up with myself. What’s *wrong* with me? 

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, eventually. “I’m sorry for being like this. I don’t want to, but I can’t stop it.”

He sounds tired. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t. I have to do it myself. This isn’t about you.”

“Then tell me what it’s about.”

“It’s about me. About my skin. About my confidence. I need to catch my breath again. I was doing so well. I was being strong, and I had control, but then--”

“--I came along,” he finishes my sentence. 

And it’s true. 

We sit in silence for a while. I can’t really think anymore. I don’t know about him, but all I want is to close my eyes, and wake up when I feel strong again. 

After a few good minutes, he stands up. “I’ll go.”

“No!” I rush up as well, grab a towel, jump and open the door. “I’m sorry.”

He’s on his way to the closet. “Stop saying that. You won’t let me touch you, and no matter what I say or do, you’re not ready to believe me. I’m running out of options.”

“You don’t have to fix me. I have to do this myself, but I need more time.”

He turns around, angrily. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Pretend I don’t hear you cry? That I don’t smell your tears? What?”

Oh, fuck. He means it. He really means it. He’s getting tired of this. Of me. I’m fucking it up. I’m fucking it up completely. 

Shivering, I walk into the room, clutching the towel in front of me. “I don’t know. I’m so tired, I don’t know what to think anymore. Can’t we just… get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow?”

He looks down. Shuffles his feet. Rakes a hand through his hair. Thinks. “Damnit, kid.”

“Please?” 

So I’m begging. Really, I don’t care. I can’t let him go, because what if I’m wrong? Really wrong? About everything? About his feelings? About us? What if I’m letting my fears get the better of me, and I’m throwing away the one good thing in my life? 

Another shuffle, but then he grumbles, “Fine.”

I close my eyes for just a moment and silently thank the Lord. 

“You’re gonna stay with me?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean tonight. In bed. I’ll cover up, and you can’t hurt me. You saw for yourself.”

He looks up, sees me trembling and dripping water, and looks away again while he reaches for the buttons of his flannel. “Okay. Sure.” Keeping his gaze averted, he takes off his shirt, and hangs it over my shoulders. “Here.”

A little voice in the back of my head instantly whispers he’s covering me up because I’m showing too much skin, but I shut it out. It’s not true. It’s *not* true. He’s being *nice* to me. I’m being completely irrational, not to mention insane, and he still wants to protect me. It’s pissing me off, but, at the same time, it’s making me so damn grateful I don’t know how to handle it. How’s that possible? How does he *do* that?

“Thanks,” I whisper, staring down at the little puddles around my feet, letting him button up the shirt while I’m keeping my towel up and around me. 

He doesn’t answer, but when I’m all covered, he pulls me close, and my hair wets his T-shirt. I can’t wrap my arms around him – they’re trapped in his shirt, and I refuse to let go of my towel. It’s my shield. I’m just not sure who I’m trying to protect: him, or myself. I guess I have to figure that one out first thing tomorrow.


	54. Chapter 54

*What* is my problem?

I’m hardly awake, but my mind instantly starts racing again. Logan’s still here around somewhere, I can sense his presence, but I don’t want to open my eyes yet. I don’t want this day to start, afraid that this will be the day that he leaves. 

After our fight last night, we got ready for bed. We didn’t say much. He scooted closer, held me until I fell asleep, and I guess he left after that. Is he mad at me? I can’t blame him if he is. I’m certainly mad at myself. I hate to be victimized, and yet, lately, I’ve been screaming my misery all over the place. I can’t stand myself *and* my insecurities. 

Okay. So I got screwed over by some guy. It happens all the time. People get over it and find someone else to love. Big deal. So my parents couldn’t handle me being a mutant. The Mansion is filled with people like me, and I don’t see them make drama all over the place. And yeah, so I’ve been stabbed, abducted and killed as well. I respectively got healed, rescued, and I resurrected again. I don’t have anything to complain about. I’m alive. I’ve got friends. I’ve got money. I’m on a snowy mountaintop with the man I’m in love with, and I’ve had a good night’s sleep. What in God’s name is my problem?

I need to pee.

Gee, talking about word-shattering disaster.

Turning around, I open my eyes and see Logan on the couch. 

Asleep? I hope so. I don’t think he’s slept much these last few days. It won’t do his tolerance any good, and I need him to be patient with me. 

“Morning,” I whisper, but he doesn’t respond. I think he’s awake though. “Are you mad at me?”

Deafening silence. 

Fine. Been there, done that. If he didn’t sleep, he had lots of hours to think about last night. I bet he’s convinced that leaving is the best option, and so he’s raising those protective fences again. He wants to keep me out, but that’s just tough. I feel strong enough to crawl through again, but first things first. Bathroom. Now.

“Whatever you’re thinking, please hold that thought,” I say, getting up and looking for my slippers. “Back in a sec.”

I hastily go through my morning ritual and then walk up to him. He still hasn’t moved, and he’s glaring at the roof with his hands behind his head. 

Damn, he’s sexy when he scowls like that. The long hair, those gorgeous eyes, and that body. Guh. Did I really spend all day using him as my mattress the other day? And did I really keep my hands to myself? What am I? Amazingly stupid?

“I’m sorry about last night,” I apologize, kneeling down next to him. “I know you don’t want me to say that anymore, but I am.”

More silence.

I stare at him for a second or two, but he keeps avoiding my gaze. He’s definitely trying to keep me out, and it hurts. Still, I understand his behavior. I know what he’s doing, and more important, I know *why* he’s doing it. I’ve been doing exactly the same. We’re both trying to protect ourselves, so I guess I need to touch him. So far, physical contact has been the key to all our struggles. It’s just as important to him as it is for me, and I *want* to touch him. I want to feel his warmth. 

Carefully resting my head on his stomach, facing him, I pray he doesn’t flinch or push me away. “I’m going down for a while. I need to think. I hope you’re still gonna be here when I come back?”

He doesn’t move, but at least he answers. “Yeah.”

Oh, thank God.

We’re quiet together, and I let my thoughts roam free again. I want his love. I want his trust. I want to be the one he turns to when he needs to talk, and I want to be the one he shares happiness with. I want to be everything for him, and I want everything *from* him, but how can I expect all those things when I can’t open up myself? When I have so many doubts? It’s not fair to have all these expectations when I can’t return them.

I close my eyes and sigh. “I know I’m being all weird, but *you* know what it’s like to be so full with feelings that you have to find yourself a quiet pace to sort them out. You do it all the time.”

He shifts a bit, and I feel his large hand on top of my head in a feather light caress. “I know. I’m not angry.”

Just the mere feeling of his fingers playing with my hair makes me instantly emotional again, but I suppress it the best I can. I know there is a ‘but’ in his answer. I hear it in his voice. I don’t want to know the rest of the sentence. Not now. I have to get my head straight before I’m able to communicate with him again. To *connect* with him again. 

“We’ll talk some more when I get back, okay? That okay with you?”

Another caress. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Why am I making such a fuss? Logan loves me. I know he does. Even Emma said that he loves me. *Still* loves me. As in ‘never stopped loving me’. According to her, he loves me more that I love him. Or what were her exact words again? His feelings are stronger. More primal. And I *love* him. I love him so much, it’s almost driving me insane, so if he loves me more… my God, I’m almost feeling sorry for him. 

Staring at my drink at Tyee’s, I recall the time when we were still living under Xavier’s roof. I remember Bobby being all troubled and quiet after Jean’s death and his parents’ rejection and how I wanted him to talk to me. How frustrating it was to watch him sulk. I also remember how frustrating it was when *Logan* was being his closed self. I hated it. I guess… I’m doing the same now. 

I pensively rest my head on my hand and lean on my elbow. 

I have to tell him everything that’s bothering me. Everything. That means the mission-stuff, too. Of all people, Logan might be the one who understands best. I overheard him questioning Charles’ motives once. Right after a mission of his own. I never asked him about his opinion of the professor, but I have a hunch he might be more inclined to believe Bobby’s version than Charles’. It would be nice to have some backup on that one, actually.

Logan has never let me down. Not really. I let myself down. I expected him to be Prince Charming, the confident one, while I *know* him. I know his insecurities. I know how he sees himself. He never lied to me. Ever. He has told me so many of his feelings. His fears. His doubts. He’s struggling with all the things I’m struggling with as well. He’s been a weapon, too. People fear him, and he thinks they should. Of all the things he has seen, all the things he’s been through, he fears himself the most. 

Charles must’ve known, and yet, he used him. I wonder if he would’ve used me, too, eventually. Was I his secret weapon, ready to follow orders after some emotional blackmail maybe? Or was he keeping me ‘safe’ because he *really* wanted what’s best for me? Or what was best for *him*? Could Charles be scared of me? Of my potential? All this time, Logan knew what I could do, what I could *be*, but he never flinched back from my touch. Never. 

I remember that one time when he was teaching me how to ride slalom on his bike. He pointed out that I had the ability to become the world’s most powerful mutant. I can even kill *him* with just a touch. All I have to do is sneak up on him while he’s asleep, and… is that why he doesn’t sleep? No. That’s bullshit. He slept in my room that one time I spilled beer all over his mattress. He actually *slept* the entire night, and he was more or less within my reach all night. No fuss. No fuss at all. 

The memory makes me smile. He looked cute the next morning. Cuddly. His hair was all messed up. He seemed happy. Relaxed. Was it because he slept so close to me? In my room? In my bed? Or because he *slept*, period? I also remember that his presence embarrassed me a bit. I didn’t want the others to see him when he snuck out. He didn’t seem to mind at all. Was that a message, too? 

Now that I think about it, he never cared what people said about us. *I* did. He pulled me onto his lap in the presence of others, he kept his arm around me when they stepped into the room, and he kept taking me out despite all the rumors. He initiated most of our time together: building his bike, welding the frame, riding lessons, the sauna, Shots & Shooters – he didn’t give a damn about the gossip that we were more than friends. Because he wanted it to be true?

All this time I wanted him to be more than just a mentor, more than a friend, and maybe all this time he wanted exactly the same. How come I never saw that before? Did I unconsciously push him in the role of brotherly protector because I wasn’t ready to be his equal? Because I really *was* too young? Too unsure? Too innocent?

God, I hate that word. It sounds so… so pure, somehow. So chaste. My thoughts weren’t chaste at all, and yet, I couldn’t act them out. 

Logan slipped once. Slipped from his fraternal behavior when I taught him the Rumba. But maybe that was because I slipped, too. I didn’t want to be careful anymore. Didn’t want to be so chaste and innocent, and I allowed myself to feel what I had suppressed all the time. He picked it up and slipped. Did he think that I was ready? 

Closing my eyes, I feel my cheeks reddening again. Just from memory. I *so* chickened out. Big time. Partly because I didn’t want to cheat on Bobby, but partly because I was scared shitless. Scared of everything I felt. The intensity of my own feelings. The intensity of his. It makes me wonder, though. If I let go of everything I feel now, would he slip again?

Now *that* is an interesting thought. He’s so careful around me. Even more careful than before. No wandering hands, no lingering gazes at the bouncy twins Carol suggested I shouldn’t cover up anymore. Which reminds me, he *did* check out my boobs quite a few times when I was younger. Maybe Carol was right. Maybe I should show a bit more cleavage. So what if I’m probably gonna freeze my nipples off? Anything to please my man, right? 

Right. So… what am I gonna do once I have his attention? Can I turn off my skin?

I close my eyes, and search for the mental switch. 

Off. 

Is it ‘off’ now? 

On. Off. On. Off.

Yeah. That was easy. Too easy. What’s the catch? Let’s try again.

On. Off. 

Hmm. Piece of cake. Then again, I’m in a booth, in a corner, covered in at least two layers, and the closest person around is some old geezer drooling in his beer at least ten feet away. Still, I can’t help but grin. All the possibilities suddenly within my reach. Kisses. Real kisses. With Logan. With *Logan*. I’d be able to nibble on that lower lip. Lick it. Hell, I’d be able to lick him all over. Taste him. Everywhere. And I always wanted to make love in front of a fire. Oh, and what about in the sauna? Would it be just as hot – no pun intended - as in my fantasies? And what about hard against a wall? Or in the shower? Slippery skin. Naked, slippery skin. *Logan’s* naked, slippery skin.

Dear God. My poor heart is already bouncing around in my chest. I’m not even sure that we will get to that part. We have to talk first. I have to convince him that I want him to stay. That I can get over my stupid insecurities while he’s around. That I *want* him to be around. That I want *him*.

Okay. I think… I think it’s time to get up again. It’s getting dark, and I won’t be able to come up with something coherent anymore. Once my mind’s in the gutter it’s quite a struggle to get out again. Maybe some fresh air will do me good.

* * *

He’s asleep.

The moment I open the door, I spot him in bed, fully clothed, and deep, even breaths. 

Good. That means he’ll be a bit more rested, too. I was really getting worried about his insomnia again. He can’t count on his healing all the time. He needs his sleep. He needs a break from *thinking* all the time, just like everyone else. 

I quietly take off my boots and gloves, leave them with my backpack at the door, and tip-toe closer while I shrug off my coat. 

Oh, my, does he look beautiful right now. No scowl, no tightly pursed lips, no anxiety. He looks so peaceful. So vulnerably divine. I seriously have to clench my hands into fists to keep myself from touching. 

As if he senses my thoughts, his hand twitches. He inhales deeply through his nose, and rolls his head to face me. I stand completely still, hoping he’ll continue his rest and won’t jump up in an attempt to chop me in two. 

He’s sleeping on my side of the bed. Is that his usual spot? He didn’t get rid of the shirt I slept in last night. It’s all crumpled next to his pillow, just like I left it this morning. Or… no. I don’t crumple my shirts. I fold them. Did he touch it? Smell it, maybe? Did he used to do that with my scarf, too? Take in the scent until it eventually got replaced by his? Or am I just being a silly romantic twit?

He moves again. Lines in his face, tension in his body. The frown returns. He’s waking up. 

Carefully taking a few steps back, I brace myself for a possible attack, but just when I think he’s gonna jump, he lazily opens his eyes, blinks once, and states calmly, “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” Hearing his deep, hoarse greeting, I faintly smile and walk around to sit on the other side. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, and sits up. “It’s okay. Must’ve been almost dead. Didn’t hear you come in.”

The nap did him good, I think. He’s definitely more talkative than this morning. 

“I did my best to be quiet, and I only just got in. I don’t think you lost your vigilance,” I try to answer in my best casual tone, although I’m pretty sure my somewhat nervous picking at one of the blankets is betraying my real feelings quite obviously. 

We both stay quiet, and suddenly everything seems tricky again. My skin flips on, and I leave it be. I kinda like it. It gives me a fake sense of protection, so maybe I should just jump right to the core of this mess we’re in. I want to get this over with. 

Looking up to face him, I say, “You were never second on the list.”

He stares back. Blankly at first, slightly puzzled about a second later. 

Returning my gaze to the blanket again, I continue, “You were always first. Always.”

I can almost hear him think, but I have so much to tell him, and so I take a deep breath, and start rambling. “It’s funny, really. Well, not as in haha-funny, but… we keep joking about it while it’s actually damn cruel. I know what it’s like to feel second best all the time. I so wanted to be first on *your* list, but I figured I had to compete with Jean, and I knew--”

“--I thought we took care of that,” he interrupts my blabbering, and I look up again. 

“We did? When?”

He’s watching me in a funny kinda way. Sorta… confused, and sorta… annoyed? 

“At her grave.”

Huh? What did we talk about again? Did I forget something important? Something so early in our relationship, it might’ve screwed up the rest?

Awkwardly shrugging, I make a somewhat remorseful face. “Well, color me dense, but I only remembered the part where you said that you cared for her.”

The confusion on his face disappears, and all that’s left is annoyance. He looks down, closes his eyes, and lets out a low, growling sigh.

“I said I was attracted to her, but I never loved her.”

“Um… oops?” I bite my lip in trepidation. “But anyway, I was saying, I knew I could never compete with her, so --”

“--Bullshit.” His head snaps up, and the sudden, buzzing frustration which surrounds us is tickling my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

“Would you cut that out?” I huff. “I’m trying to tell you something. You listen to me first, and then I’ll listen to you. Deal?”

He tosses me a piercing glower, but then his eyes drift to the wall behind me, and he scoots backwards to the headboard to get a bit more comfortable. Resting his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands, and mutters, “Fine.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Where was I? Oh, right. Competition. Okay. I didn’t want to compete with Jean, and so I didn’t even try. The irony is, all this time I turned out to be second best anyway. Or maybe even less. Bobby had a crush on Kitty, but she was with Pete already. He didn’t stand a chance.”

I nod to myself, and concentrate on the blanket again. “Some people may fake an orgasm, but Bobby managed to fake an entire relationship. He never fell in love with me. I was his first mission.”

Logan opens his mouth, but catches himself before he utters a sound. It makes me smile, despite the painful subject, and I look him straight in the eye when I continue. 

“Creepy, huh? He had to make sure I stayed at the Mansion. At all cost. And I really do mean at *all* cost. Charles made me first on *his* list, and because of our own insecurities, we all simply let it happen.”

He stares at me, processing all the information. 

I allow myself to dwell in self-pity for a moment or two, but then I ask, “Did you know?”

“Know what? About the mission? You were a fucking *mission*?”

He didn’t. He’s too upset. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

“Yeah. I did some tests in the lab after they’d patched you up the day we came in. I wanted to stay down, but Charles said it was best for me to participate in daily life. ‘Ro brought me to my room and said that attending her next class would be a nice distraction from everything that had happened. I went, and there I met Bobby. He gave me an ice rose, and I thought it was… I don’t know, cute. I felt… accepted. Welcome.”

“I saw that. Chuck gave me a tour. We passed the atrium, and I watched the whole show from behind glass.”

“You did?” My mind instantly starts racing again, and I move a little closer. He lowers his leg, and I put my hand on his thigh. “You think… Charles did it on purpose?” 

His large hand covers mine completely, and I vaguely register the warmth he’s radiating. That, and something that feels a bit… off. I don’t get much time to think about it, though. 

Logan pensively stares at the wall again. “Why would he do that?”

“I think… he’s been trying to separate us from the very beginning. He must’ve sensed this bond we have, and he wanted to keep me on *his* side. I would’ve run with you again if you’d let me come along. I was waiting for you to wake up so I could ask your opinion about them all, but the mushy-rose stuff suddenly changed everything.” I snort in disgust. “God, I was such a *girl*. I can’t believe I fell for that.”

He seeks my eyes, and there are so many emotions hidden in the caramel-brown with a touch of green, I’m not really sure what he’s feeling. 

“You needed a place to settle,” he says quietly. “I couldn’t give you that.”

Caressing the fabric of his sweatpants, I reply quite heatedly, “I know, but still, it’s fucked up. You saw me. The *real* me. They never did. I never was a person to them. They *still* see me as some weapon, just like they see you. It’s *wrong*. We’re *people*, damnit. They didn’t have to right to manipulate us like that. I can’t believe I let it *happen*.”

Again I can’t quite read his emotions, but he squeezes my hand, and he shows me an almost-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I would’ve taken you along. If you didn’t want to stay, I would’ve taken you along.”

“I know. I think I always knew. But I didn't ask because I wasn't ready for this then. For us. I wanted to be, but now I know that I wasn’t. And you weren’t either.”

“True.”

Again we stare, but this time there’s no crackling frustration. We share a moment of understanding. Companionship, and then some, until his smile turns into a wicked smirk. 

“You think we should pay Chuck a visit?”

I can’t help but grin at that. “I already confronted him about the whole mission-thing. He said he didn’t mean any harm. I guess he simply likes to interfere with his student’s love life. Kinda scary if you ask me.”

“Yeah.”

I knew Logan would back me up on all this. I *knew* it. God, I *so* love him. 

“You know what?” I almost excitedly bounce up and down because sharing conspiracy theories is way more satisfying than feeling paranoid. “He also warned me not to contact you. Maybe he’s afraid his most precious weapons will both turn against him. Há! Serves him right.” I thoughtfully narrow my eyes, and joke, “What about The Brotherhood? You think Erik still has vacancies?”

He groans. “Screw both of them. I prefer just the two of us.”

Suddenly feeling a bit out of breath, I mumble. “Just the two of us. That sure sounds nice. I’d go for that, too.”

When it stays quiet, I dare to glance up, and see that funny stare again. I think… is that insecurity? 

“What?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “I’m a jealous bitch. I’d like to keep you to myself.”

A small smile. Still a bit sad. “You have me.”

“You have me, too,” I return seriously. “All of me. Even when I’m being all weird. It’s because… I want you to love me just as much as I love you. I want you to want me as much as I want you. I want you to promise me that you’ll always be there, no matter how damaged I am, but I know I can’t ask that of you.”

He’s about to interrupt me again, but I raise my hand and hush him.

“The reason I don’t want you to touch me skin on skin is because I don’t want to hurt you, and also because normal people can’t transfer feelings like that. When they get hurt, they get over it. They fall in love again, and take the same leap of faith, hoping they’re going to make it this time. I should be able to do that, too. I guess I just have to believe in us. I have to believe that we’re going to make it in the long run.”

“You already do.”

“Huh?” That wasn’t the reaction I expected.

He squeezes my hand again. “Look.”

I do, and see his bare hand on top of mine. No gloves. No barrier. It’s such a shock I instantly pull back, and that’s when my skin flips back ‘on’ again. “Careful!”

He thinks it’s all quite amusing, though. “Okay, so you believed for about seven minutes. It’s a start.”

Totally confused, I stare at my hand and still feel his warmth on my skin. That was it. That was the off-feeling. I’m not used to a direct touch anymore. It was faintly familiar, but not. 

“The last time I checked it was on. When we started this conversation, it was on,” I stammer. “When did I touch you? And how could I be this careless?”

“You weren’t. I was. You seemed distracted. I thought it was worth a shot.”

“Oh!” Half frustrated, half excited, I slap his arm. “Damn you! What were we talking about?”

A mischievous lopsided grin. “Us against Chuck.”

“I see.” Fascinated by his sudden boyish charm, I try to understand it all. “Us, as in together. As one.”

“Yep.”

I’m so overwhelmed by all these emotions, I almost start to hyperventilate, and without really thinking, I blurt out, “I wish… I wish the English language had better words to express what I’m feeling right now. ‘I love you’ just doesn’t seem to cover it. It’s too shallow somehow.”

Okay. Did I just embarrass him? Is he suddenly a bit… shy? No way. Logan doesn’t do shy. The smile’s still there, though. Almost invisible, but hey, it’s Logan. 

“The Japanese have different ways of expressing love,” he says, shifting a bit. “They say ‘daisukidesu’ when they really like someone. It’s like saying ‘I love you’ to family or friends. They also use it to say that they love a beer or something. Things. And then there’s a more official way. They don’t use it often. It’s a bit too… intense.”

Fascinated by his words, I ask, “Intense, how?”

His eyes dart my way for a split-second, but then he fixes his gaze on the blanket between us again. “I’d-die-for-you intense.”

“Oh. Whoa.” I have to check if I’m still sitting, because I have the feeling that I’m floating in the air. “Is it hard to pronounce? The intense one?”

“Aishiteru.”

“Aishiteru,” I repeat, struggling with the foreign sounds. “Aishiteru. That’s a pretty word despite the weird ‘r’.”

“Yeah.”

Watching him avoiding my gaze, I decide to sit up straight, scoot closer, and sorta ceremoniously put my hand on his leg again. “Logan, aishiteru.”

A cautious glance. Questioning. Exploring. Hopeful?

It feels like he’s turning me inside out, but I don’t flinch under the pressure. Instead, I say it again. “I love you. So very much. Aishiteru.”

Suddenly calm and determined, he reaches out to grab my wrist where it’s covered by my sleeve. 

I instinctively want to pull back again. “It’s ‘on’, now.”

He doesn’t let me go. Cocking his head a little to the side, he guides my bare hand to his long, dark mane. “Aishiteimas.”

Breathless, I finally rake my fingers through his hair, and wheeze, “Is that… what I think it means?”

A smile. A real one. “Yeah. I love you, too.”


	55. Chapter 55

He loves me.

He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. Sounds damn good if you ask me. It feels even better. 

I crawl onto his lap to straddle him, and I’m never gonna leave again. Those arms should never stop hugging me either. The big ape loves me. Heh. And I love him right back. Oh, yes, I do.

“My turn,” he murmurs into my hair, but I’m not quite done basking in this new kind of happiness yet. 

“For what?” 

“To talk.”

“Go ahead.”

“Jeannie.”

I groan. “Oh, please. I thought we were done with her.”

“Me too. Eight fucking years ago.”

“Hey, now.” I sit up straight. “I missed that part, okay? No need to go grouchy on me. Whatever you said, you obviously weren’t very clear. Anyway, it’s all irrelevant now. I’m sure she was a wonderful person and all, but she’s dead. I’m not. You’re with me. The end.”

He stares at me. Incredulously. “I’m not with you because you’re the one who’s alive.”

Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “Okay. So that came out wrong. I understand the Jean-part. I really do.”

He clearly doesn’t believe me, because I get the dubious eyebrow, making me sigh again. 

“I *understand*, Logan. You love me. Me. Not her. You love me, because…,” I frown and can’t come up with anything. “Because… I don’t have clue. Why *do* you love me?”

He meets my eyes, and one side of his mouth curls up. “Because you’re a pain in the ass. And you smell good.”

I think I heard that wrong. “’Scuse me?”

“You smell good,” he repeats, almost grinning now. Almost. “Your scent – it’s one of the few I actually like. You always smell so good to me. Real good.”

Ooookay. If my smile turns out a bit smug, well, that’s because it is. 

“Oh. Well, thanks.” I nestle my head against his shoulder before rubbing myself against him a bit. “You don’t smell so bad yourself.”

He chuckles and instantly start caressing my back again. “Okay. We got the Jean-part covered now, right?”

“Right.” I nod. “Jean’s history. More confessions?”

“Yeah. You said that Cyke must’ve made one hell of a deal for your truck, but all the money he used was yours. It was the money you earned while you worked for Chuck.”

I lift up my head and open my mouth again, but he gives me a stern look, so I decide to bite my lip and sit this one out. For now.

“Chuck and I had a deal: he’d help me with my memories, and you’d have a home and could finish your school if I worked for him.”

“No way.” I can’t shut up any longer, and I’m shocked into stuttering. “That’s… that’s so… so wrong!”

“No. That’s responsibility. I told you I’d take care of you.”

“But no one ever discussed this with me,” I protest, shifting off his lap and sitting opposite from him on the bed. “Charles didn’t have the right to use me for negotiations. I thought… you saved me. It was enough. More than enough. It was too much already. Your promise ended there. On Liberty Island.”

He pulls up his legs again, showing me a small smile. “Wrong.”

“Damnit, Logan,” I mutter. “I don’t like this. Now I feel all kinds of guilty for making you do things for the sake of my comfort.”

“Hey.” He reaches out to me, but I shrug his hand off my shoulder. He looks hurt for just a second, but he collects himself soon enough. “I was okay with it. I knew what I was getting into. It was a good deal. Part of it was that he’d help me find my past, too.”

“I still don’t like it,” I grumble, not quite sure what to make of this. “That doesn’t make it right. He should’ve helped you for free. Seems to me he’s only using his powers for his own benefit.”

Damn Charles. Damn Logan, too. He should’ve told me. All this time, Charles had him by the balls. He was stuck because of me. Doesn’t he resent me for all that just a little? I don’t dare to ask, so we’re silent for a few moments, until Logan picks up the conversation again. 

“I still work for him sometimes.”

“Really?” I huff skeptically, still plenty of pissed to sulk some more. “You’re getting the good jobs now? Get promoted for being such a good little pawn?”

He ignores the sarcasm. “I still do the stuff no one talks about. He hires me – I get the job done. He knows, and he pays.”

That bring us back to our earlier conversation. About how we’re gonna make some money and all. 

“Can I help?”

“No.”

“Hmpf. So, what am I supposed to do? Play housewife and fetch your slippers?”

He’s in too good a mood to let this conversation end up in an argument. While I can’t help but mope, he calmly reasons with me. “We can go back to New York. You once wanted to become a pilot. Chuck will have us both close, and you have friends there.”

Still a bit petulant, I grumble, “What’s in it for you?”

He shows me a comforting smile and gently tugs at my hair. “I get to see you in black leather a lot.”

Ugh. What’s with him? He’s so… so disgustingly *cheerful*. 

“You hate it there. It’s crowded and noisy, and there are all these kids, and you have to put up with Scott and take orders, and--”

He sighs and cuts me off. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done it before. I might have to escape once in a while, but I’ll manage.”

“You’d really do that?” I ask somewhat suspiciously. Hesitantly. “For me?”

Another warm smile while he teasingly pokes my shoulder. “Yeah.”

“And when you take off, can I come? Not always, but… you know, sometimes?”

“Yeah. Always. If you want.”

He means it. Really means it. He’s so open somehow. Calmly watching me while I study him. While he lets himself be investigated. 

“So… did we just agree to become X-Men for real?” I ask, still a bit uncertain because this went really smooth. Where are all the obstacles? The Big Things that makes it almost impossible for us to be together? *Stay* together?

“Looks like it,” he returns simply, casually shrugging one shoulder. “It’s up to Chuck. He takes us both, or not at all. Gonna have a good talk with him about a few things, but I have a hunch we can work it out.”

“Yeah,” I agree absently, already imagining a possible discussion about our relationship, and for the umpteenth time wondering that everyone will say about it. Should I care? Logan is the most important person in my life, but I really want my friends to support me. Support *us*. I hope it’ll work out. If not, well, I love it here, too. 

Looking around, I can hardly hide a sudden melancholic mood, “I want to come back here a lot.”

“We will.” 

This time, I let him pull me back onto his lap. I straddle him again, and hide my face in his hair while his arms snake around me. “Promise?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” I breathe in his scent, and smile. He really does smell good. Safe and familiar, and yet not. There is something undeniably exciting and manly about it. Something that makes my insides jump around in nervous anticipation. Something that always makes me want more. Something that makes me greedy. 

Is my skin ‘on’ or ‘off?’ Off. Defini--oh. Now it’s ‘on’ again. Goddamnit. I really need to bite his neck. Seriously. I cannot bear to sit on his lap, feel him *this* close, and *not* bite him. 

I close my eyes, focus inside, search for the switch, and - off. 

Is it ‘off’ now? Yeah. Good. Nuzzle time. Hmm. Nice. Warm skin. Silky hair. I rake my hand through his locks before gently kissing the skin right underneath his ear. Maybe it’s time for a little experimental lick, too. See if I can keep my skin from switching back ‘on’ again. 

“Marie,” he… sorta groans? Is that good? Is he concerned about my control?

“It’s off,” I whisper in his ear, right before I gently bite his earlobe. 

He groans again. Shifts me a little on his lap. Pressing me against him a bit more, and… oh… he’s getting hard again. Well, good. Because I’m getting pretty damn excited as well. 

Now might also be a good time to get that real first kiss. A kiss without a scarf in between, and without sucking the life out of someone. The problem is… I don’t know what to do. This is Logan. *Logan*. He’s a man of the world, has kissed lots of women, and I don’t want to be the blushing girl here, but that’s exactly what I am. Is that why he’s so passive? Is he trying to take things slow? Jesus. I don’t want to set the pace. I’m nervous enough already. 

I kiss his jaw, loving the stubble, and slowly make my way to his mouth. He sits completely still, almost frozen on the spot, and I wonder, doesn’t he like it? Isn’t he supposed to attack me now? Am I doing something wrong? 

I plant a chaste, little smooch at the corner of his mouth. My heart is doing overtime, and if he doesn’t take the lead soon, I’m going to hide under the blankets again. Why doesn’t he kiss me back, damnit? 

Burying my hands in his hair, I brush my lips against his mouth, unsurely, timidly. For a moment I think he’s not going to respond at all, but then he kisses me back, tenderly, sweetly. A butterfly kiss with soft, warm lips, but nothing more, so I’m squirming on his lap, wanting and needing, waiting for the rest. For him to touch me, to teach me, and to take me. 

Slowly, almost uncertainly, his hand moves to cradle the back of my head as he kisses me again. His mouth is surprisingly soft, and I part my lips, inviting, willing, and hoping. The following quick, exploring sweep of his tongue fills me with warmth, with a longing I recognize but haven’t felt in ages, and my body responds with instant wetness. I awkwardly squirm some more and wonder if he knows how ready I am. Does he smell it? The hunger? The lust? It must be rolling off of me despite my nervousness. I’m burning inside. It’s been so long. I can’t even remember the last time I had an orgasm. Can’t remember the last time I masturbated. How pathetic. 

‘On’. 

“Fuck,” I hiss and quickly pull back just as he was about to deepen that kiss. “It’s ‘on’ again.”

He lets out a somewhat shaky breath. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” I can barely keep the irritated growl inside. “It’s too slow. We’re going too slow. It’s all too wobbly.”

Slightly slumped shoulders, but he smiles nonetheless. “Too wobbly?”

“Yeah. I feel like… like I’m balancing on a wire with pointes or something.”

“We got time,” he answers soothingly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and rubbing my arm with a warm hand. A very large, warm hand. Hands I feel all the time, but never quite enough. Never like *that*.

Highly frustrated with myself and this situation, I mutter, “I don’t want time. I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m done taking things slowly. Done being careful. I can’t stand to be this close and not feel you. Really *feel* you. You’re *mine*, damnit. I want to *be* with you.”

Fire. For a second I see liquid fire in his eyes. Then he looks down, and digs up the comforting smile again. “You *are* with me, and we have time. It’s okay. No pressure.”

“You’re *not* helping me,” I tell him, pressing my hands against his chest and feeling all the hardness underneath his shirt. “Remember that one time when I asked you how you’d do me? After graduation? I was slightly tipsy.”

“Wasted. Not tipsy.”

I roll my eyes. “Details. Irrelevant details. You said you didn’t want to do me in a storage room. You said I deserved something better. That I wasn’t a no one. Remember?” 

He nods, and I fix my gaze on his chest while my hands wander up to his shoulders. 

“I *want* to be a no one. Just once. And with you only. I don’t want to be special or dangerous. I want to know what it’s like to be one of those nameless women you meet in a bar, and get fucked against a wall, simply because you can. Because *they* can.”

“No.” He grabs my wrists and tries to make me look at him, but I’m afraid I’m gonna cry if I do, and so I obstinately look down. “You don’t want that. To be like that.” 

God, I’m having all these feelings, my underwear is goddamn soaked, and he still seems to think that I’m some innocent little girl.

“You don’t understand,” I mumble, half-embarrassed, half-annoyed. “I *am* like that already. All this time, I’ve been so scared. Not just of my skin, but of myself as well. Of what I want. Of what I feel. My thoughts. I want… I’ve been wondering. Fantasizing. Nothing lovey-dovey. In my mind, it’s rough most of the time. Hard. I’m not sure if it’s the influence of others inside my head, you and Erik, or if it’s just me, but I’m not… I’m not innocent. Inexperienced, yes, but never innocent. Not really.”

A second of silence, but then he presses a quick kiss on my palm. “Good. Innocence scares me to death.”

I glance up. “The way I look, does it bother you? That I look so young?”

He waits a moment too long, and he knows it. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

His honesty makes me grin a little. “I’m twenty-five, sugar. Twenty-five. I’m old enough for everything you have in mind. Hell, I’m almost overdue.”

He manages a small smile, but he still doesn’t look too happy. “I feel so damn old sometimes, but then I look into a mirror--” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. 

“I know. But we can share that together, too.” I give him a hug, and caress his cheek where it’s covered by his facial hair. “And now… now we’re done talking. You said you’re not afraid of my skin, of what I can do… well, I think it’s time you prove it.”

An intense stare. A bit puzzled, too. “Now?”

“Duh.” I experimentally roll my hips again and go for blatancy. “I know you’re ready, but haven’t you noticed how much *I* want this? How ready *I* am?”

He wraps his arms around me, pulls me even closer, and kisses the top of my head. “I can do things with your skin still ‘on’. I can wear gloves. It’s not about me right now. We don’t have to rush because of me.”

This feels a bit too protective. A bit too fraternal again, even though he just suggested to do naughty things with gloves. 

“Yes, we do. I want you. I want to feel you, inside of me, without the fuss of clothes and condoms and all that crap, but I have to forget my skin to make it work. I have to stop thinking. I need to *feel* instead of *think*, and you can do that. You can make me forget. Just… do it.”

Silence. Then, so low it’s almost inaudible, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t mind a bit of pain. You can kiss it better later.”

More silence. 

Well, you know what? Fuck inexperience. Fuck coyness, too. If he needs some incentive, he’s gonna get it. 

I push myself away from him, and in one quick move, I tear his shirt in two. He’s too shocked to say something, but I smugly grin at the magnificent sight of his bare, hairy skin right under my nose. Há! I knew super strength would come in handy one day. 

“There.” I nod. “That felt good. Now it’s your turn.”

Blinking, he opens his mouth, closes it again, looks at my hooded sweater, and finally, he says, “It’s your favorite.”

I laugh and want to hug him for still being so damn considerate. “Alright. How about I take it off myself, and then you get to shred what’s underneath?” I pull the sweater over my head while he shrugs off the remains of his shirt, and I carelessly throw it on the ground. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath, but I shiver anyway. “Go ahead.”

His earlier shock is replaced by uncertain amusement now. “You’re nuts.”

“No, I’m waiting for you to get a clue and fuck me senseless,” I point out calmly, even though I feel that damn blush all the way down to my toes. 

It’s almost funny how he changes moods so fast. We’re back to the intense stare again. A piercing, smoldering stare, holding all sorts of passionate, raw promises. “You sure?”

No.

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

“I don’t know if I can stop.”

I grin and feel smug. “I don’t want you to.”

He keeps staring, searching for something. “If you want it hard and fast, it won’t be about you.”

I nod just once. “I know. But it won’t be about you either. This is all about my skin. About defying fear and insecurity. I need the better ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ kinda stuff for that.” Then, I grin some more and add, “But you’re allowed to get off on it anyway.”

He smirks at that, but then he’s suddenly all serious when he says, “Marie, you need to be sure. I’m not going to ask again.”

Oh, God. Don’t faint. Just… keep on breathing. In… out. And skin ‘off’. Off. Off, damnit. *Off*. 

“I’m sure.”

And then he moves really fast. 

He grabs my hair, brutally yanks my head back and presses his lips on mine, parting them by thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I stiffen at first, want to yelp, but he kisses me, hard, demandingly, with an insistence and dominance I knew was there but never experienced before. There’s a wet tongue, warm and slippery, finding mine and sucking. Then he pulls back, bites my lip, licks it, and the cabin starts spinning, and my ears are ringing. I feel myself go limp, slumping against his body, melting, my mind completely blank. 

His muscles ripple under my fingers. There is so much naked skin. Hot, and hairy. I think I scratch him, and he groans into my mouth when he kisses me again, almost crushing me in his embrace. There’s a sound of tearing fabric. My shirt is open, and his chest is so warm and hard against my skin. I think I want to pause, I want a moment to take it all in, but then his tongue’s playing with mine again, and I moan and gasp, forgetting what I wanted because I like *this* far better. 

Suddenly, he lifts me up and drags me to the middle of the bed. He parts my knees but doesn’t give me time to think about it. His weight is instantly on top of me, and he’s so heavy, wrapped all around me, so overwhelming, so overpowering, and I feel how hard he is when he grinds into me. He wants me. He wants me so much, and my entire body seems to float just because of that knowledge. 

Lifting my hips to meet him halfway, I pant, “Oh, yeah. God, yeah. Logan…” but then his mouth is back on mine, hard and wet and taking, and words are lost. 

His hands are everywhere. Touching, stroking, pinching a nipple through the fabric of my bra. I moan and arch my back, and he opens the clasp before his fingers disappear into my hair again, roughly yanking. 

“Take it off,” he orders with a voice low and hoarse, and there are gushes of breath on my neck, his stubble scraping my skin, and I tug too hard because he bites my shoulder, angling his hips and grinding into me again. The fabric is torn while I cry out, burning, wanting, and needing more, so I pull him close, skin on skin, his chest against my breasts, and he growls, “Fuck, Marie…” and it’s so goddamn sexy, I almost come right then. 

I frantically tug at the remaining clothes because they’re too restraining, too annoying. I unzip my jeans and rake my hand over his erection, feeling something significantly more than I’m used to, but his panted groan makes me ecstatic and I instantly forget to blush or to worry. There is a lot of impatient shrugging, tearing, and frantic kicking to get rid of all of the fabric while we keep on groping and licking and biting and needing, but I manage to free one leg eventually, my panties and jeans still clinging to the other. 

He instantly positions himself between my legs again, his clothes gone as well, and then he’s pressing and easily sliding inside my body before I can actually think it through. Suddenly I’m so full, so stretched, and so *owned* by him, we both moan at the same time, and I want to savor the moment but he doesn’t wait or ask if I’m okay - he just starts moving, hiding his face in the crook of my neck and gritting out, “So… good. So... fucking… ready.”

“For you,” I pant back, wrapping my arms around him, and my body starts jerking underneath his like it has a will of its own. 

He pulls back and fills me up again with a long, hard thrust, and I gasp, recognizing this feeling and yet I’ve never felt anything like it before. He does it again, and again, pumping in and almost-out, and I don’t know if there’s a rhythm but I really don’t give a damn. I just cling onto him and feel him fuck me, and it so good, so deep, I didn’t know it could be like this, especially when he lifts his head and kisses me again, long and greedy, giving me so much even while he’s taking. 

“Mine,” he growls, his breath hot against my swollen lips. “You’re mine.”

“Always,” I whimper, looking into his eyes and seeing such a beautiful shade of golden-caramel with splashes of green. It’s making my heart jump and down inside my chest. 

He kisses me again, surprisingly tender considering the moment, but then he pulls up my knees and I can feel him even deeper, making me cry out and dig my nails into his back while the rich scent of lust is enticing, savagely seducing, and I bite his shoulder, so hard, the skin breaks and I taste his blood. 

“Ah, fuck!”, he roars, and he rolls us over so I’m on top, pulling me close against his chest while he thrusts again, once, twice, but then his body goes completely rigid. I arch my back and angle my hips to keep him deep inside, and he jerks and shudders, gritting out my name on his panted breath. It’s everything I’ve been denied for so long, I can’t stop the wave of high even if I wanted to, so I surrender to the overwhelming rush of pleasure, to him, to myself, and to life. 

Suddenly I’m turned inside out, and upside down. I’m lost but found, shattered but whole. I can’t breathe anymore, completely conquered, but safely treasured. I’m nothing. I’m everything. I *am*. I am like I never was before. And this time, I think I finally fit myself.

For a long time I don’t register much outside my own skin. Then, I think Logan’s whispering my name, but I’m slightly disoriented, dizzy, ungracefully draped over his heaving chest. I’m so warm. So relaxed. I think one leg is still covered in jeans. A torn bra’s hanging from one shoulder. I feel Logan’s arms around me, his hands caressing my back. He’s still inside of me, still hard, still filling and hot and primordially claiming, and God… I don’t think life gets any better than this.

In a fuzzy, indifferent kind of way I’m also slightly confused about what just happened. I’m very sure he came, but I didn’t think I would, too. Was that even an orgasm? It didn’t feel like the ones I’m used to. The ones I know usually center around the most obvious parts, but now… now I think my entire body climaxed, including my brain. I didn’t even know that could happen. 

“Marie?” Logan asks again, sounding worried and still out of breath, but I’m still marveling about the wonders of magical sex. 

“It worked,” I mumble, and suddenly there are so many emotions washing over me, I burst out in a giggling sob. “It really worked.”

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Sniffling, I wipe my nose and realize there are tears on my cheeks. “Yeah, I’m… fine. Happy tears.”

“Sure?”

I nod, searching for the right words to assure him, but nothing comes to mind, other than, “I’m… supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

There’s silence, followed by a gruffly confused, “What?”

I sniff-giggle, feeling absurdly happy. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. It’s from a movie. Mary Poppins.” 

He shifts a little, trying to lift me up so he can pull out of me, but I cling onto him, wanting to keep him close and inside of me for as long as I can. “No. Stay. Please.” 

He stops, and I swallow, smack my lips, and taste the coppery tang of blood again. His blood. God, I must’ve bitten him hard. 

When I look up, I catch him staring at me. Greenish eyes, long lashes, furrowed brows. God, he’s beautiful, but he’s also still concerned. There’s blood on his chest and his neck, but there are no bite or scratch marks anywhere. I guess he’s all healed up already. 

“Are *you* okay?” I ask a bit self-consciously. “I think… I kinda bit you.”

A ghost of a smile now. “Yeah. That was… unexpected.”

I think I’m blushing crimson. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Good. Damn good.”

Smiling, I lean in to kiss him, but it makes him slide out a bit and I feel a warm, sticky fluid dripping down my thigh. It makes me grimace against his mouth because I’ve never felt that before. I always—

“I’m not on the pill,” I say, my heart skipping a beat. “We didn’t use anything.” 

“It’s okay,” he answers, all serious again. “You still got a couple of days.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess.”

Because… are we the kind of people who should get kids? Do we even want them? I don’t have a clue about his feelings when it comes to starting a family of our own. Are we both going to outlive them? The thought… 

“You weren’t a no one,” he breaks my inner monologue, tilting his head and scanning me. He’s holding my gaze, making sure I understand what he’s saying, and all dramatic ideas are instantly gone. 

“I know.” I grin. “You said my name. Several times.”

He seems satisfied with my answer and tenderly kisses my forehead. “No regrets?”

“Are you kidding me? No way.”

“I’m not always like that.”

“I know,” I say, lazily closing my eyes and resting my head on his shoulder. “I’m not always like that either. I usually don’t bite. Or scratch. Or rip clothes.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s a part of us, sometimes.”

“A part of *me*,” he returns somewhat bitterly, but I shrug. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever the case, I kinda like it.”

He doesn’t answer, but his hands gently roam over my back, my hair, my arms, and I love every caress and don’t want it to stop. We should get up and change the sheets, but I’m way too comfy over here. And to be honest… I really like feeling him still inside my body. It’s something so intimate, I’m getting all lovey dovey over it. We’re really together now. We’re one. What a great way to start a new year...

That reminds me - “Tyee asked if we’d come down on New Year’s Eve,” I say, nuzzling his chest hair. “I told him I’d ask you.”

“You want to?”

“Hmm. Dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t drink. I might take off my clothes and go for a naked fly between the fireworks.”

“Yeah. You always want to take off your clothes in the freezing cold when you’re drunk.”

I smile at the reference to the one night at the boathouse. “I’m sick of being good and staying in control. I wanna be wild for a while.”

“I know the feeling.”

I slowly rub my breasts against his chest, and purr, “Well, we can always stay here and lose control together.”

Growling, he squeezes me a bit closer. “I like that option a lot better.”

“And what about now?” I wiggle my butt. “You gonna stay hard forever or something?”

Another growl and he bucks his hips a bit. “Probably, now that I know what’s like with you.”

Oh, I like that. I definitely like that.

“So… you want a second round?”

“Yeah. And a third. And a fourth one, too.”

I lift my head and can’t stop a big smile. “Really?”

He grins back at me, his eyes all twinkly and sexy. “Really. I’m gonna make you scream my name until you’re hoarse.”

Holy… 

I gulp and am instantly on board with that plan. We can make it about *him* this time. About what *he* needs.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, and he shows me that scanning look again, like he’s assessing me if I’m really up for it.

“Sit up,” he says, and I do what I’m told, feeling only a tiny bit self-conscious under his gaze. 

His hands reach up to cup my breasts. “The times I’ve wanted to touch you…” he mumbles, and he flicks his thumbs over my nipples, chasing away all self-consciousness because-- 

“Ah,” I moan, arching my back and feeling him so deep inside of me, my entire body seems to sizzle with want again.

“Touch your clit,” he orders through gritted teeth, flicking his thumbs again. “Finger yourself.”

God, I don’t know whether to writhe or cringe, because this is so goddamn good but it’s definitely the mature side of sex. Even though I’ve been an adult for a while now, I’ve never reached this level with Bobby, and it surely was never something vocal. 

Still, I touch myself, and he pinches both nipples until they’re almost painfully hard, and I’m actually getting dizzy with lust. When I feel the slippery wetness between our bodies, I don’t really think anymore, I just *do*. I coat my fingers in both our fluids, bring my hands between my breasts and wipe the wetness on my skin, all the way down to my clit. 

“Aishiteru, Logan. I’m yours,” I say, panting and smearing, rolling my hips. “I want to be marked as yours, everywhere.”

He swallows hard and his hands slide to my waist to stop me from riding him, obviously struggling to maintain control and unable to speak beyond the guttural sound in the back of his throat.

Keeping my eyes locked with his, I smile. “Alright. I won’t move. Just… touch me?” I grab one of his hands to make him touch my breast again, and the other one follows right after, caressing, rolling my nipples, pulling and pinching, while I’m carrying out his order. I know I can’t hold on much longer because the tension’s building up inside of me much too fast, and I want to move so badly, I have to fight my entire body to resist the urge.

“Logan… Please… What do you need?”

“To feel you come,” he says, his voice low and growly. “Come for me.” 

He sits up to kiss me, pressing me against his chest, his tongue licking my lower lip before softly biting, and it’s all I need to make me fall apart again. My inner muscles clench around his shaft while I cry out his name, twitching and shivering, and I’m vaguely aware of him lying down to buck his hips and throwing back his head as he comes, too. 

By the time I manage to crack an eyelid, I’m sprawled all over his chest again, sticky and messy and completely exhausted. Jesus Christ, this man is going to be the death of me. I was almost foaming at the mouth. I don’t know if I can handle a third time, let alone a fourth. 

“Logan?” I whisper, not being able to stir a single muscle just yet. “You think I could take a nap before we start round three?”

He chuckles lazily, those warm, large hands caressing every inch of my skin he can reach. “Sure.”

I smile. “Okay. Just a quick one. Don’t go anywhere.”

He gently rubs his cheek against the top of my head, and I sigh contently, not even bothering to move.

Being in his arms really is the best place ever.

* * *

_‘January 1st._

_Don’t you just love a blank page? All serene and virginal, waiting for an adventure. Once the first syllables are written, the tone is set and there’s no turning back. You have to let the words carry you through the story, hoping they will bring you to the end you’re longing for. In a way, it’s the same in life._

_The strongest among us choose their own path, but some people need guidance and seek out others to show the way. They might end up stuck in a crowd, forced to take a wrong turn, but the mass keeps them going. They can only hope that the end of their journey will be the end they’ve been waiting for all this time.’_

“Hey, darlin’.” Logan walks in, kisses the top of my head, and takes off his coat. “What’re doing?”

“Writing,” I answer, pensively staring at the screen of my laptop. “I decided to collect all my notes and make our struggle a real story. Do you mind?”

“Fine by me.” He grabs a beer, checks my glass – still half full – and crashes on the couch.

“I won’t use our names, and I’m gonna move it into a non-mutant world. You know, like a regular romance novel or something.”

“Am I going to be the sexy hero?”

I look over my shoulder, catch him teasingly smirking. He’s been doing that a lot lately. He even laughed out loud a couple of times as well. I can’t help but fall madly in love every time he smiles. I can’t keep my hands to myself either, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Sexy hero, huh? Well, I’m definitely gonna keep the ‘sexy’ part. I’m not gonna tell him that, though. The smug bastard. 

Smiling, I stick out my tongue before turning back to my laptop again. “You just wait and see.”

Even though my skin is still a bit wonky, we’ve been going at it like bunnies on Viagra. As long as the first time is rough we’re fine, but every time we want to start out slow, I get a bit edgy. My skin flipped ‘on’ twice already, but Logan kept his calm, assured me that he was fine. It almost freaks me out just thinking about it again, but I can’t doubt his feelings any longer. I felt them myself. 

He loves me. So much. So… whole. 

“You gonna try and publish it?” he breaks my train of thoughts, and facing him again, I shake my head. 

“Nah. Maybe on the internet. It’s mainly therapeutic. A way to come to terms with everything that has happened. And if someone wants to read it, well, that’s okay. Maybe he or she might even learn something from it.”

“Yeah. Never give a ride to underage stowaways.”

It makes me laugh. “No, stupid. I hope they see that it’s okay to be who you are. That you have to follow your own path, even if that means that you have to go alone. Flying solo isn’t as scary as it looks. As long as you listen to your gut, it can be quite liberating.”

He snorts. “I told you that years ago.”

“Pfft. As if you followed your own advice, Mr. Smartass. Now, shut up. I have a story to tell.” I blow him a hand-kiss, and turn back to my screen. The flickering cursor waits patiently, and I type: 

_‘I was one of those people once. Stuck in a pattern, I followed the established lines suitable in my situation. Even though I knew in my heart I was going the wrong way, I simply didn’t have the strength to fight my way back to the crossroad and choose my own path. Usually I comfort myself that maybe it was for the better. Maybe I wasn’t ready when I got lost in the group. I wasn’t ready for life, for love, for independence. I had a lot to learn back then, and maybe, if I’d taken the shortcut to my goal, things could’ve been much worse._

_Of course, there are also times when I feel bitter about how I was forced to travel a road that only brought me back to my starting point after all. If someone offered to let me go back in time, I’d take it and do it all differently. But those are fantasies. I probably needed to struggle my way through life to find out that I knew the way all along. That all I wanted was right there in front of me._

_I guess… it’s a lesson well learned.’_

* * *

The End


End file.
